


Mock(ing)bird

by HaroldSaxon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, F/M, game of thrones au modern, once upon a time plot, treacle jr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2018-12-25 08:00:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 75,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12031584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaroldSaxon/pseuds/HaroldSaxon
Summary: Sansa Stark is a troubled young woman who wants to disappear from the face of the earth. After boarding the train to London and sleeping rough for several days, she meets Petyr in the King's Landing area, a borderline manic nutcase who comes at her with such overshooting care and kindness that it instantly invokes thoughts of flight. Although the equivalent of a human boomerang (Sansa just can't get rid of him), Petyr really has the best of intentions. Slowly Sansa warms up to him, but why does she and everybody else she meets in King's Landing seem to be unable to leave this doomed, depressing place?An "afterlife" fic in which purgatory is not just a place of fire and brimstones but an AU set in modern times, everyone is trapped in his own kind of personal hell, and Sansa has to find a way to get herself and Petyr out of here.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A game of thrones modern AU Sansa/Petyr fanfic. I have aged Sansa up a bit (early 20s) and made Petyr younger (early 30s), just to reduce the creep factor a notch. Petyr's character is based on a character played by Aidan Gillen in the movie Treacle jr. If you haven't seen it, go see it. It's wonderful. 
> 
> Please leave a comment if you like the story. It motivates me to write on.

 

 **NOTE:** I am constantly looping music during my writing sessions. Please see my notes per chapter for more selected tracks.  
  
[Once upon a dream](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8waJ7W3QcJc)

For those who have a hard time imagining him as anything else but our favorite whore monger and want to watch the movie Treacle Jr online: Here you go:

[Treacle Jr](http://123hulu.com/watch/OvkMR1GQ-treacle-jr.html)

 

I know you,

I walked with you once upon a dream

I know you,

that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam

  
And I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem

But if I know you,

I know what you'll do

  
You'll love me at once,

the way you did once,

upon a dream

 

1.

  
You would think that these days, you can't get lost, but you can.

Sansa Stark boarded the train in Oxford station at exactly 9:30 in the morning on April the 12th. Shortly before she boarded she had been on the phone for a while, calling her parents up in the north. It was her mum who had picked up her call.

Sansa told her that she had already left the university campus and was on her way home.

“Do you have a lot of washing with you?” Her mum asked.

“Only a bit.” She lied. Actually she wasn’t carrying any luggage with her. She had her mobile, her wallet with her bank and student ID card and a couple of folded banknotes in her back pocket, and that was it.

“It’s just your brothers are going to be home for spring break too. You know how they tend to hoard up. They never give me anything to wash unless it’s completely caked with dirt, just when the washing machine is acting up. I told your father that we should get rid of the old thing and go to the shop to buy a new one, but, you know how he is, he wants to take a long look at it first…”

“It’s going to be fine, mum.” She smiled, hoping that her mother would somehow hear that smile right through to the other side of the line so she wouldn’t worry about her too much. “I’ve still got plenty of clean clothes to wear.”

“Are you sure you’re wrapped up warm enough? It’s still very cold up here. It’s been mad all week. Last Tuesday, it even started to snow in the late afternoon.”

She was very relieved to see the train finally pulling into the station. “I have to go now, mum. My train is here.”

“At least promise me that you’ll wear something warm. I know you don’t like cardigans or sweaters because they are not fashionable, but it this is not the kind of weather to indulge in such silly vanities.”

“I will. I promise.” She felt a rope tightening around her heart. “I really have to go now. Love you mum, speak to you when I am there.”

“Love you too my darling, be careful! See you in a couple of hours.”

Sansa let the mobile slip in the pocket of her long coat. The train on platform 5 that had just arrived was the 9:20 to Edinburgh, but instead of getting on, she waited till all of the other passengers have boarded. She still was waiting when the conductor jumped onto one of the carriages and after checking, blew on his whistle to signal for the doors to close. When the train finally pulled out of the station, she looked up at the board to find out which train was coming in next. By chance, it just happened to the 9:30 to London.

It didn’t really matter to her which train she was going to take. She just wanted to disappear. London was as good as any other town. As long as it wasn’t home, it would do.

2.  
There was a cold numbness that came with sleeping rough. It was like an anesthetic that seeped into her brains till she felt so paralyzed that she could hardly do anything, or want anything. She had not spoken with another human being for 2 days now, and she was dead tired. The trouble was that she couldn’t really sleep at night. The streets of London were never quiet, not even in the many public parks that looked so serene and safe during the day, little kids with their mothers, people jogging or walking their dogs, old ladies feeding the ducks in the pond.  
But at night, after all the decent folk had gone, the place turned into something much more frightening. With gangs of hooded teenagers stalking around in the dark, drinking and shouting and whistling and catcalling her every time she passed, she felt like a hunted animal, lost in the deep dark woods.

On the first night in London, she slept in a small park on a graffiti covered park bench under a big oak tree. She was roughly woken up by a loud homeless drunk who was yelling at her that this was his sleeping spot, and he threatened to rape and kill her if she didn’t fuck off. Terrified, she ran away. After that she didn’t dare to go any place quiet anymore, not after dark. She spent last night sitting outside on the steps of some grand building, a former bank turned hipster apartments, with her face buried in her woolen coat for comfort. It was a busy spot, and it was long after midnight when she finally managed to fall asleep despite the noisy traffic and the constant flow of people around her. She was roughly woken again in the early hours of morning by the cleaners who asked her to move because they needed to sweep the street.

I can’t do this any longer, I really can't. She thought to herself, as she walked away from where she had so uncomfortably spent the night, huddling in her coat. I can’t stay awake for another day and spend somewhere out in the streets for the night again. I can’t live like this. I really need to find somewhere safe to sleep.

Eight in the morning and the city was bustling again with commuters. So many people were passing her by on their way to work or whatever place they needed to be, but she didn’t dare to ask any of them for help. It wasn’t so much that she didn’t want to. She just couldn’t, just like she couldn’t make herself to go home.

She sat down on the edge of a fountain and rummaged through her pockets. She found her mobile phone. It had been switched off ever since she had arrived in the capital. She didn’t dare to switch it back on. Her parents must have called her a thousand time by now, leaving a string of worried messages.

Succumbing to a pang of guilt, she put it away again and took out the small change in her wallet. Counting the small amount of coins in her hand, she figured she would probably have enough to buy a bus ticket. She walked to the closest bus stop and got on the first bus that turned up. Climbing up the narrow winding staircase on wobbly legs when they started to pull away from the bus stop, she just managed not to keel over and dropped herself into one of the empty seats. There, she pulled her hood down over her face and put her head against the windowpane. As soon as she closed her eyes, she drifted away.

She was so fast asleep that she didn’t even notice that someone came and sat down next to her. Not until she was poked repeatedly her in her arm that was.

“Hello, miss? Miss? Do you hear me miss?”

Still dead tired, she struggled to peel open her eyelids. A man with a messy mob of black curly hair and a thin scruffy beard wearing a baseball cap was staring right back at her with a friendly smile plastered on his face.

“Are you awake miss? Miss? You are awake, aren’t you?”

God, the world must hate her. Why can she never have a bit of peace and quiet?

“Yes I am.” She replied, rubbing her eyes. “I am awake. Is there something wrong?”

“Oh no, no, nothing wrong.” The man replied, shaking his head fervently. He had finally stopped poking in her arm. “I just thought, I saw you being so fast asleep, and I was worried that you might have missed your stop or something. It happens to me quite often and it’s never good you know.”

He was speaking very fast and very loud. Sansa noticed that the other passengers were looking at him.

“I once fell asleep in one of those night line busses. You know the ones that ride after midnight and only come once an hour? I ended up in a bus depot in Ipswich. I couldn’t get home. I just couldn't. They wouldn’t drive me back and I had to spend the entire night sleeping outside with my head against a dustbin. They wouldn’t let me sleep on the bus inside the depot you see, because there were safety issues or something. I couldn’t get a bus back a till the next morning, and they told me I had to buy another expensive ticket as well.”

“Ipswich?” Sansa muttered, not sure how to react to him. Not only was he speaking very rapidly, he had some sort of speech impediment that made every word sound slurred. With her head still dazed, she only could pick up Ipswich from the incoherent string of ramblings.

“Yes, yes Ipswich. That’s pretty far away isn’t?” He furrowed his brows. “Come to think of it, I might have taken the wrong bus. Anyway, you didn’t miss your stop now miss? You’re sure about that?”

“Yes I am sure, thank you.” Sansa replied timidly, noticing that the other people on the bus were now staring at them both.

“Because you’ve been sitting here quite a while now. We’ve been around a few times already. You know?” He twirled circles with his finger. “Normally people get out somewhere along the line between here and the city center. Not that I am saying that you’re weird or anything. I don’t mind sitting up here and riding around all the time. I have nothing important to do like other people do. Work and school and stuff. Do you have anywhere important to be miss?”

She blinked the last of her sleep out of her eyes. The man sitting next to her was still wearing a big friendly smile on his face. Now she got a better look at him, she saw that he was dressed in a white T-shirt with over it some sort of faded brown tweed jacket that had seen better days. It was covered with all sorts of colorful badges, the sort of stuff kids pinned on their clothes to look cool. Great Sansa thought, yet another weirdo. Welcome to the great city of London. She really was regretting that she had not thought it through before she decided to board the train to the capital. Maybe she should have gone to Ipswich, like this creepy idiot had.

“Yes, I do have to be somewhere.” She lied. “Actually, I think this is my stop. She turned her head to pretend that she was looking at a passing sign. “Oh yes, this definitely is my stop.” She told him as the bus started to pull over. “Could you please let me get out?”

“Oh of course.” He said with a wide grin, and stood up let her pass. “I am very glad you didn’t miss your stop.”

“Thanks” Sansa muttered, trying to avoid eye contact. She was halfway down the stairs when he yelled after her.

“You’re very tall.”

“What?” She half-turned around and got a real fright when she nearly bumped into him.

“You’re very tall.” He told her, holding on to the railing with all the grace of a wobbly newborn giraffe. “You must be what? 1,75-76? I think you’re a bit taller then me.” He added, making a serious attempt to compare heights using his free hand. “You have to watch out. You’re very tall.”

“Em yes.” Feeling really creeped out now, she turned back around, keeping her eyes firmly on the ground. She was just taking the last step down when she bumped her head painfully against the metal ridge that stuck out from the upper floor.

“Oh miss? Are you all right? You have to watch out, or you’ll bump your head. I do that all the time when I get off. I tried to warn you though.”

She really had enough. Nursing the bump on her forehead, she hastened her steps to get off the bloody bus, half-aware that people were now looking at her like she was with this shouty idiot.

Much to her annoyance and despair, the strange man followed her.

Are you all right?” He asked when she was left standing alone with him at the bus stop in God knows where. “Are you hurt? Let me see.” Sansa immediately stepped back when he tried to come closer to her.

“What are you doing?” She snapped.

“Sorry! Sorry about that.” He raised his hands up and backed away a few steps, visibly taken by her response. "I just wanted to help. Seriously, I am not a GP or anything, but I have plenty of experience. I had masses of bumps before. Masses. So if it is really serious or anything, I would know.”

“No just…don’t, I am fine, really.” She struggled to respond to him. How can someone possibly be so nice and creepy and confusing at the same time?

“You’re sure? Because you don’t want it to swell.” He pointed at the bump on her forehead that was now starting to pulse like an angry vein. “It can turn massive you know.”

“Thank you for your concern-”

“Petyr.” He rubbed his hand clean over the side of his trousers and stretched it out to her with a wide grin. “Call me Petyr. Petyr Bealish.”

“Thank you.” She said, deliberately ignoring his hand. “You really don’t need to worry about me.”

He took her hand anyway and pumped it up and down most enthusiastically. “Good to meet you! What’s your name?”

“My name?”

“Yes, I told you what my name is, so what is yours?”

She should just lie, make up something and be done with it really, but her tiredness had turned her brains into mush.

“Sansa.” She told, him, figuring that he couldn’t really do much with only her first name anyway.

“Sansa? Oh but that’s a beautiful name. Really beautiful. Did your parents give you that? Did they name you Sansa?”

Who else, you moron, she thought, but instead just replied with a polite yes and quickly pulled her hand away to bury it deep inside her coat pocket.

“It’s wonderful to meet you Sansa.” That moronic grin again. “You seem like a very nice person. I haven’t met anyone nice with such a beautiful name for quite a while now. Today must be my lucky day.”

“Look I really need to-”

“It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?” He interrupted her.

“I guess it is.”

“It’s really lovely. The sun is shining. The trees are green. The flowers are blooming. It’s almost even too warm to wear my coat. Can you imagine? I love my coat. I wear it all the time. When it rains, or when it’s snowing. Even in mid-summer, and I am sweating in it like an icecream sitting in the microwave.”

“Pete?”

“Petyr.” He corrected her.

“Peter, It’s been very nice meeting you, but I really need to go.”

“Yeah me too. Where are you going?”

“That way.” She just pointed at a random direction really. “And you?” Hoping very much that he would go the exact opposite direction.

“Oh I am totally flexible.” He shrugged. “I can go anywhere. On a beautiful day like this, with all the birds singing and flying around, busy building their little nests, you know what would really make it special? You know what really would make me happy?”

“No I don’t.” And I really don’t care, she thought to herself.

“I would love to see a hock bird.”

She blinked her eyes fervently while her heart leaped in the throat as her internal creep alarm just went up another notch.

“I beg you pardon?”

“A hock bird. I would like to see a hock bird.”

“A hot bird?” Why of why was she even still talking to him. This guy was obviously mentally ill.

“Yes, I mean no, a hmmock bird. A mock bird.”

“A mock bird?”

“Yes, yes that! I am sorry! I sometimes I get the H and the M confused when I am very nervous. I am almost never nervous but, you know, it’s not every day you meet a new friend.”

“What’s a mockbird?” She asked, her heart settling down a bit. _Oh why do I even ask?_

“You really don’t know what they are?” A radiant smile spread over his lips. “Oh let me tell you, they are absolutely wonderful, they are so cool. They don’t look like much, they don’t have very fancy plumage or anything. They are just small and a little bit grey, with streaks of black and white, but they are amazing. They can do the most amazing things. Here let me show you. Make a sound.”

“What sound?”

“Any sound, pick a sound, any sound really. Make any sound you want.”

The only sound she could think of making right now is a long exhausted sigh. So she did.

“Okayyy. Ehm, make another sound. Pick any other sound, any sound.”

“Please go away.” She said softly, hoping that he really would.

“Please go away!” He snapped his fingers enthusiastically. “Yes! Yes! That’s exactly the kind of sound that a mockbird would be able to make! Only it would be more repetitive, like a song you know. These birds are amazing in imitating sound, any sound. So if you said, please go away, it would respond with a sound like, Ple gooo a-wey, Ple gooo a-wey, gooo a-wey, gooo-wey!”

“Oh please do.” She mumbled, catching the strange gazes people passing by were giving them. Unfortunately for her, her sarcasm remained, much like anything else around him really, completely registered.

“I love watching birds.” He said, finally shutting the heck up. With a wide grin, he pulled on a string that hung around his neck and produced a set of mini binoculars from under his jacket. “Watch them every morning at six from my balcony. I would love to see one, you know, a mock bird, for real, but I can’t, they don’t breed in the UK. Much too cold. And they don’t even have one at the Zoo. Believe me, I checked. I check every time I go there. I asked them to get one, because, you know they are amazing, everyone would love them, they will bring masses of people in if they had one. So I told them that they should get one, I keep telling them that every time I go. They say they are busy with it, but they are really slow. I think they have trouble getting the right papers or something to get it imported. They can be very strict with importing exotic animals here, you know, but not so much as like in Australia, I suppose. Over there they are really, really strict with these sort of things.”

Sansa thought that if she would just stop looking at him and stop replying to his odd rambles, that maybe he will just give up and go away. But he didn’t.

They walked several blocks, crossed over the road to the small park where she had spent her first dreadful night in the capital. They walked around the duck pond and the kids play yard several times, then left the park again and crossed over another road to a small local shopping mall. He kept following here, walking beside her like an overexcited schoolboy, talking incessantly about all kinds of nonsense and trivialities, while she kept her mouth shut and her headache grew worse and worse, till it was resonating inside her skull like thunder.  
“Pete!” She suddenly yelled at him, stopping dead in her track. She really, really had enough. She had to get rid of this guy now, or she would go screaming mad.

“It’s Petyr.” He corrected her. “With an Y. I know it’s weird. I don’t think my parents put much thought into it when they named me. It’s very inconvenient, people often write it wrong.“

“Pete, Peter what ever. Don’t you have somewhere to go?”

“No not really.” He shrugged, returning a friendly smile to her.

“Well, I need to go. I need to go home, right now.”

“Yes I know.”

“You do?”

“Yes! That’s why I am walking along with you. It’s getting pretty dark, and we’re not in the best of neighborhoods. Not that we’re going to get killed or anything. It’s not that bad.” He added with a reassuring grin. “It’s safe enough. I live here, but you’re not from here, and you’re a girl, and on your own, so I figured I should walk you home. You know, just to be safe.”

“How do you know that?”

“Know what?”

“That I am not from around here.”

“Your accent. It’s not from here. It sounds very northern. You sound like you’re from Edinburgh or something.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you from Edinburgh? You’re not trying to get back up there tonight are you? Because if you are, I think I need to go home to get more money.” He rummaged through his pockets and took out a handful of coins and a crumbled up 5 pound banknote. “I don’t think I have enough to get to Edinborough and back.” He told her, while clumsily straightening the note. “And I need to tell my landlady that I probably won’t return before 9:00. Otherwise she won’t know where I am and she going to go completely loopy on me.”

“I am not…” Sansa shook her head, getting too lost for words. “You don’t need to bring me back all the way to Scotland. I don’t live there. Not anymore.”

“Oh phew!” He laughed, visibly relieved. “But I wouldn’t have minded though, to bring you back to Edinburgh. It's just it would have been very difficult for me to get back to London tonight. And my landlady really doesn’t like it when I stay away too long without telling her. She is a sweet lady, very caring, but she can get a bit shouty something.”

“You really don’t need to bring me to Edinburgh. I haven't even lived there.” She lied, getting irritated. “There are more cities in the north you know.”

“Oh but I should! I really should. It’s the decent thing to do. It’s what a true gentleman would do. So where do you live? Are we going the right way? Because back in the park, I thought you were lost of something, because we kept going around the duck pond several times.”

“Where do you live?” She asked. Of course she didn’t really give a damn where he lived. It was a way to distract him. After having spent almost the entire afternoon with this strange man, she had found out that he was very easily distracted.

A wide happy smile crept over his face that had all the strange charm of an overfriendly Labrador who was about to slobber all over your face.

“You really want to know? You want to see where I live? I can definitely show you that! Definitely! It’s really close by. It’s just around the corner.”

It was indeed. After they had turned and had passed by a stone-walled garden, they reached an ugly estate building that sat in the middle of what must be the saddest looking concrete car park that she had seen since arriving in the city.

“Here it is, King's Landing estate, home sweet home!” he spread his arms wide in a ridiculously grand gesture, as if he was presenting her a royal castle instead of four floors of red brick estate flats. Everything around her looked incredible grimy and dilapidated. Perhaps Pete or whatever his name is, was right. This neighborhood didn’t look really that safe to walk around by herself after dark.

“Oh do you want to come up and see my place?” He fumbled up his sleeves to reveal what must be the last existing plastic digital wristwatch in the UK. “Quarter past seven. It’s still early. My landlady would not mind that much.”

“Oh that’s very kind of you. But I really must be going.” Sansa managed to say. Her head felt like a balloon that was about to burst. Suddenly, the world started to turn in front of her eyes, and she felt like her head was drifting away, as if it was separating itself from the rest of her body.

“Are you all right?” His blue-grey eyes large with concern.

“Yes.” She muttered, wishing he would shut up.

“Are you sure?”

“I said I was all right.”

“Because you know, you look very pale. I mean really, really pale. Like a ghost. In fact, you’re paler than a ghost. Like if you were a ghost, you would be almost transparent by now and be very frightening to the other ghosts.”

“I…” She couldn’t finish her sentence. The world was now violently spinning around her. She sank through her knees. He caught her in his arms, just before she hit the pavement.

“Sansa, what are you doing? Do you hear me? Sansa? Sansa?”

Her eyes rolled up to the back of her skull and she fainted.

TBC

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the positive comments! I think I know where to go with this now. Have adapted the description and tags accordingly. It’s going to be a bit of “once upon a time” with a bit of “Neverwhere” mixed in, if that makes any sense. Hope to be able to update at least once a week.

1.

Sansa was dreaming, of that she was at least sure. She knew she was because in her dreams, nothing ever made any sense, and things that had never really happened always seemed so real that they appeared more like memories to her than mere fabrications of her imagination.

It was merely days since she had arrived with her father and her little sister Arya in King’s Landing. Today was a very special day, it was the Hand’s tourney, a jousting contest that was held in honor of her father becoming the new Hand of the king. She sat at the grandstand near the royal family that was especially built for the occasion. Dressed in a long sleeved pink silk dress, she was the every image of the beautiful maiden of the Seven, the goddess who lived in every lover’s sigh, and planted the seeds of dreams into every young boy’s heart. She captured the attention of ser Loras, the knight of the flowers, who handed her a deep red rose. Her heart beat quickened when he turned to greet her with a courteous bow. He was so handsome. Just his smile was enough to melt her tender heart.

It was then that the woman who sat next to her and who she knew was her septa called to her. “Sansa dear.” She said, gesturing at a man who had just joined them at the stand. “This is lord Bealish, he is –“

“An old friend of your family.” He smiled at her with a mischievous glint in his grey blue eyes. She returned a friendly smile, but didn’t thought that much of him, her heart still overflown with the flower knight, but she did noticed the small silver pin that he wore, right under the collar of his tunic. It was shaped like a bird, a mocking bird, she knew. It was not called a mock bird, like whoever that idiot was that had recently told her so, and although it was small, and insignificant looking, with only streaks of white and black to brighten up its dull plumage of mostly grey, it was amazing, because it could perfectly imitate sound. It could imitate the cries of all the mighty beasts in the forest, of the majestic stags, of the dangerous lions and proud wolfs. It could even imitate artificial sounds, such as the sirens of the police car that was now wailing through her dream. A disruptive, irritating noise that was pulling her out of her strange but familiar world. 

She woke up from the loud television sounds blasting through the thin wall, fragmenting the last memories of her dream till there was nothing left of it in her mind. She was lying on the lower bunk of what appeared to be a bunk bed, in a room so small that it was almost claustrophobic. Confused and much disorientated, she rubbed her hand over her face, and felt the bump on her forehead. She was surprised to find some sort of cooling plaster stuck on to it. The bump had only swollen slightly, and didn’t hurt that much anymore.

Where the heck was she?

Flashes of had happened to her came back to her, making her heart jump in panic. Didn’t she walk home with that creepy weirdo she met on the bus? Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around herself. _Oh God!_ _He didn’t touch me, did he?_ She wasn’t sure, but then she noticed that she was still fully dressed, and was even still wearing her shoes. Only her coat had been removed and was draped neatly over a coat hanger that hung from the back of a chair in the corner of the room.

 _It’s all right._ She told herself, taking in a deep breath. _Just calm down. It was not like that. It was nothing like what happened at uni. I was unconscious, I got so tired that I fainted right in the arms of that lunatic. It was incredibly stupid of me, but nothing happened, he didn’t touch me. Just get the hell out of here before he finds out that you’re awake._

She quietly took her coat from the hanger, and tiptoed to the door. For a brief moment, she was panicking again, fearing that it would be locked. Her overactive mind was coming up with all sorts of horrible scenarios, replaying every scene from movies she had watched as a teenager in which young girls were kidnapped and locked away in rooms to be raped and murdered by crazy psychopaths. Her heartbeat rang in her ears when she tried the door handle. Much to her relief, it gave way, and she entered a dimly lit, tiny hallway. One side of it led to what appeared to be a chaotic mess of a living room, the other was leading to the front door. She sneaked towards it, passing the bright rectangle that was the entrance to the kitchen. She heard the noise of pots and pans clanging against eachother, and the hiss of something being fried in a pan. Edging pass with her back against the yellow wallpaper, she had almost managed to slip by the kitchen unnoticed when her host peeked his face around the corner and gave her the fright of her life.

“Sansa!” He called cheerfully, still talking way too loud. “You’re awake! How are you feeling? Are you feeling any better? How is your bump? I put a cooling plaster on it so wouldn’t swell up.”

“Fine. It’s fine.” She muttered, again bowled over by the way he was communicating with her. “Thank you, I am feeling much, much better now.” She wanted to slip pass him and move towards the front door, but somehow he had cornered her in such a way that she had no other option then to back away into the kitchen.

“You suddenly fainted.” He noted, his voice serious with concern. “So I brought you home and let you sleep. You were very tired. You slept for hours.”

  
“That was very kind of you.” She relied, forcing herself to smile.

“I figured it might be because you were hungry, that you literally fainted of hunger! We have been hanging out all afternoon and you didn’t eat anything. Let me tell you, I was really peckish when I came home, and I have some reserves, you know, I am practically fat compared to you. So I am going to feed you something and you will feel much better I am sure. I am cooking up some pasta for us both.” He picked up the pan to show it her. “It’s not really cooking, it all comes from a tin really.” He reassured her with a grin. “I am not allowed to really cook anything from my landlady, only warm stuff up. She is too worried I will have another accident and set her kitchen on fire again.” He continued to stir the food into a pulp. “You like pasta, don’t you?”

“Ehm, no, sorry I can’t eat that.” Sansa answered.

“Why not?”

“I am a vegan.”

“I am sorry?”

“A vegan.” She sighed. “I can’t eat meat or any other animal product.”

“But, then…pasta is all right, right? There is no meat in pasta.”

“Yes there is. There is probably meat in the sauce.”

“Really?” He furrowed his brows in complete astonishment and searched through the bin to pick out the discarded can, eyes squinting at the label. “Okay, there is flour in it, tomatoes, oregano, oh no, you’re right, 10% beef, that’s no good, no? Although, it’s just 10%. Only 10% Sansa?”

“No it’s no good.”

“Oh okay, right. Sorry didn’t realize that. Didn’t know that you were a vegan.” Seemingly very confused about the whole vegan concept, he picked up the pan from the gas cooker and absent-mindedly tilted the red goo into the bin.

“Hey, you don’t need to throw that away. I don’t eat it, but you could. I thought you said you were hungry?”

“Yeah well, it’s not nice to make you watch me eat and let you go hungry, is it? You’re my guest. I should take care of you. It’s all right, I just have to cook up something else.” He scratched the back of his head and opened the fridge to go through the content. “No, am not allowed to cook that.” He muttered to himself. “Can’t cook that either, not that, not that, not that, and –“ He cocked his head to the side to read something hand written on a label that was stuck on to a plastic bag. “Don even think of touching it on the pain of death you moron…right…” He slammed the fridge shut and jumped back up with a somewhat helpless expression on his face. “Definitely nothing out of the fridge then. Maybe something from the cupboards?” He swung open the cupboard doors and swept through the content, picking up cans and packages, and taking a good look at them while repeatedly scratching his head, each of them seemingly more confusing or frightening to him than the other, before quickly returning everything back to the shelves. He finally found a can that he wasn’t afraid of using and shoved it in front of her face. “Cream mushroom pasta!” he proclaimed in triumph. “That you can eat right? There is definitely no meat in mushrooms.”

“But it does still contain milk, and probably cheese, and I am pretty sure they use eggs to make the pasta. So I still can’t eat any of it.”

“Milk powder, cheese, eggs…” He muttered, reading the label aloud. “Yup you’re right again, it’s all in there. Pfff this is not easy!” He smiled and raised his eyebrows at her. Then, a bit baffled; “You can’t eat any of that? Seriously?”

“Not if I am following a vegan diet.” God she hated it when she had to explain it to other people that being a vegan isn’t some sort of weird cult of anything.

He put the can of pasta on the sink and gawked at her with a face full of concern. “No wonder you’re so thin. Look at you, you’re skin and bones. You must be absolutely starving. I would die if I can not have any of that.”

Sansa sighed and was about to tell him to sod off when he turned around, having picked up a carton of eggs.

“How about an omelet.” He asked hopefully. “I can make an omelet. I have made it…” He paused and thought about it for a moment. “Twice? At least one of them, I am pretty sure, was pretty okay, because my landlady didn’t immediate dump it in the bin when I gave it to her.”

“An omelet is made out of eggs." Sansa told him slowly, almost chewing on her tongue to stop herself from shouting at him. “An egg is an animal product. I can’t eat an omelet.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but wisely paused to think about it first. “Ah…” He bit on his lower lip. “Ehm…How…sick are you going to get if you eat just a little bit of it? I mean, on a scale from 0 to 10, ranging from just fine to life threatening and me having to bring you to the hospital, what would it do to you if you would just have, let’s say, just the egg white?”

She gave up. “You know what?” She said, faking a grin. “Fine, just give me the omelet.” She didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. She was actually starving, having not eaten for several days. She wanted to eat something, her principles be damned.

“Are you sure? I really don’t want to make you sick or anything.” He added, raising his hands in the air. “Can you really eat that when you have a vegan allergy? Because I don’t want you to die from it. You’re my friend, and I don’t want my omelet to kill you. I would never forgive myself.”

“it’s not…” She swallowed the rest of the sentence and replaced it with something that she thought was probably going to spare her a lot of grief. “It’s not that serious.” She managed to say with a much forced smile.

“You’re sure? You’re really really really sure?”

“Yes! Yes I am sure.” She finally snapped. “Just go make the bloody thing already.”

“Okidoki! Two omelets, coming up!” The worries immediately vanished from his face and he was back to his cheery old self.

 

Completely exhausted from that one conversation alone, Sansa sat herself down at the kitchen table and put her head back to stare at the cobwebbed ceiling light. No, she was by now pretty sure that Peter or Petyr, was not going to hurt or murder her tonight, but he just might manage to drive her insane. The tiny kitchen was filling up with thick black smoke and the smell of burnt egg when she heard the front door open and slam shut.

“Petyr! Petyr? Is that you in the kitchen?”

She saw him cringe a little in response. He ran to immediately remove the pan from the cooker and started frantically scratching off what must be the first fully carbonized egg that she had ever seen from the bottom of the blackened pan onto a random plate.

“Petyr!” Someone screeched.

“I am in here misses Tyrell!” He yelled back over his shoulder into the hallway. “Misses Tyrell is my landlady.” He explained Sansa, quickly placing the plate with carbon omelet in front of her with a very thoughtful side of tomato ketchup. “She is really nice. Don’t you worry! I know for sure that she won’t mind you being here.”

“Petyr! You moron, have you been cooking again?”

“She is just a bit shouty sometimes. That's all. She’s got a hearing aid. She can’t hear herself talking. She is very very old.”

“I am old, yes, but not deaf, like you bloody well seem to be. I told you to stay out of my kitchen! Are you only going to be satisfied when everything in my house is burnt to a charcoal husk?” A short elderly lady walked in, leaning on a cane and waving her hand in front of her face to clear the smoke. “Jesus, what have you been doing in here?”

“Nothing, nothing.” He replied, hiding the burnt pan behind his back. “I was just making an omelet, that’s all. I really didn’t burn anything this time.” He lied rather poorly, his eyes darting down to avoid her gaze. “Or maybe just the pan.” He admitted when she kept staring him with a soured look. “I am sorry misses Tyrell! I am going to clean it all up for you. I promise. You really don’t need to worry.”

“Who is this trollop?” The silver haired elderly asked, staring wide-eyed at Sansa.

“Excuse me?” Sansa couldn’t believe her ears.

“Oh Petyr.” The old woman continued to scold. “I told you not to bring in strays. No cats or prostitutes, remember? I don’t want any of them in my house. The first ones piss and shit all over the place, and the second ones are going to rob you blind. Haven’t you learned anything from the last time you brought home a hooker from the streets?”

“Oh no misses Tyrell, Sansa is not like that.” Petyr told her, shaking his head fervently. “She is a nice person. I am sure. She is my friend and she has a vegan allergy, and I am pretty sure she isn’t a prostitute because she hasn’t been asking me for any money.” Petyr turned to Sansa. “You’re not a prostitute are you?” He asked hopefully.

“I am pretty sure I am not.” Sansa replied sarcastically.

“She is pretty sure she is not, that’s good enough right?” Petyr asked the elderly woman with an eager expression on his face. “Can she stay for tonight? It’s really late. She hasn’t had anything to eat yet. She is skin and bones and faints when she is hungry. She has to finish her omelet. She can sleep in my room on the top bunk.”

“My dear boy, you’re only renting the lower bunk.” Misses Tyrell reminded him. “You don’t pay me enough to also rent the upper one.”

“Oh but she could sleep in my bed. I can sleep on the floor easily. I really don’t mind. Please misses Tyrell, Sansa won’t give you any troubles, I promise. I’ll do everything. I’ll make the bed. I will clean everything afterwards. I’ll cook her supper.”

“No you bloody well won’t.” Misses Tyrell replied, leaning over the stove to switch on the exhaust hood and opening a window to air out the kitchen while she coughed the smoke out of her sensitive lungs. “You want the neighbors to come over again to complain? Is that what you want? Do you really want them to come yell at you again?”

Petyr bit on his lower lip and shook his head feverishly.

“Petyr, it’s quite all right. I don’t need to spend the night here.” Sansa tried. “I can just go.”

“Oh no Sansa. You have to stay for tonight. Please stay. Please misses Tyrell, Sannsa is a nice person. She is not a cat. She is not going to soil your carpet, and she is pretty sure that she isn’t a prostitute. Please can she stay?”

“Oh Petyr.” Misses Tyrell suddenly went weak through her knees, her hand clutching onto her bosom. “My poor heart.” She croaked.

“Misses Tyrell? Oh no! Is it your heart again? Is it your heart?” Concerned, he rushed over to her side and assisted her to a chair. The elderly woman sank forward, and started to breathe with great difficulty.

“What is going on? What’s wrong with her?” Sansa asked, noticing the sudden panic in his eyes.

“Misses Tyrell has a heart condition. She - she gets into trouble when she is stressed. Misses Tyrell, do you hear me? Is your hearing aid working? I am really sorry!” Petyr cried out, running his fingers through his messy hair, his face ravaged by guilt. “I am sorry that I have upset you. I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry!”

“I need – I need my pills.” Misses Tyrell puffed, squinting her eyes in pain.

“Pills, your pills! Yes, yes, of course, where are they? Are they in your bag?” He jumped up and was about to rush out into the hallway to get them for her.

“No, no. They are not in there.” She wheezed. “I have finished them ages ago. Forgot to get new ones.”

“Oh no.” Petyr muttered, looking absolutely terrified he turned to Sansa for help. “What are we going to do? She is going to die without her pills. She is going to die and it’s all my fault.”

“Do you have a phone? We should call the ambulance.” Sansa opted.

“No that’s no good.” Misses Tyrell whispered, getting more and more out of breath. “They take ages to get here. I will be dead before they arrive.” She coughed and clasped her hand tighter onto her chest. “Petyr?” She looked up at his pale frightened face. “Listen to me dear. Stop panicking and go get my purse. There is a prescription note in there. Take that and a tenner and run down to pharmacist. Show them the note. They will give you the right pills. Do you remember where the pharmacist is?”

He nodded. “Near the baker and the fish an chips shop in the small shopping mall on the other side of the road.” He answered, knowing it by heart because he had been sent there many many times before.

“That is correct. Now go there and get me those damned pills, before I keel over.”

Petyr rushed to get everything together. “I will be back soon misses Tyrell! I will get your pills. Don’t die! Please don’t die!” He yelled over his shoulder as he ran out of the front door wearing one and half a shoe and forgetting to wear his jacket all together.

As soon as he had left the apartment, misses Tyrell immediately stopped breathing loudly and sat up straight in her chair. “Thank God he’s gone.” She muttered.

Sansa was shocked as she watched misses Tyrell get up by herself and walk over to the sink while hardly leaning on her cane. “Are you all right misses Tyrell?” She asked, furrowing her brows in confusion.

“I am fine.” Misses Tyrell replied dismissively, rolling her eyes at her as she took a glass and what looked like a bottle of rum from under the kitchen sink cabinet and poured herself a glass full. “At least as fine as one could be at my age.”

“What’s going on?” Sansa asked, finally getting a hint of an idea. “You’re not really ill, are you?”

“Of course not. I needed to send the poor idiot away for a while so we two can have a quiet talk.” She took a good swig of the rum and stared back at Sansa, studying her with an air of contempt on her wrinkled old face. “Tell me honestly. Don’t lie because I can always tell. Why are you here?”

“I didn’t want to be here.” Sansa replied. “He brought me to the apartment. I was not feeling very well and fainted in the street.” The old woman’s strange behavior boggled her mind. Everything that she had encountered today was so very stressful and strange. Sansa almost wished she was back out in the streets where the daily chaos of the city was far more manageable for her average sized brains.

“You’re not a prostitute? He didn’t pay you?” Misses Tyrell noted.

She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation with a what? 60-70 year old lady? “No of course not.”

“Because if you are, you should just leave, right now.” She told her in a strict voice. “I assure you, Petyr does not have any more money, and he really doesn’t know what he is paying you for. In fact, he probably just thought that he was helping out a friend. He doesn’t expect or want anything from you. So you can just stop taking advantage of the poor sod and get out of my house before he comes back.”

Sansa felt her cheeks flush with indignation. “For the last time. I am not a prostitute, and I don’t want to take advantage of him. I would never do that.” She added in a softer voice. “He’s obviously very ill. He probably needs help.”

“Oh Petyr is not ill, but he does need help. Lots of it.” Misses Tyrell sighed, and took another glass out of the cabinet. “All right, so you’re not hooker. What are you then? His new girlfriend?” She smiled sarcastically. “An innocent young beauty who was captured by the natural charm and endless wit of our Petyr?” She gazed at her slyly. “You wanted to come and visit his wonderful apartment to spent a romantic evening of passion, is that it?”

“What? no.” Sansa cringed, shaking her head to get rid of the disturbing images. “I am not his new girlfriend. I am not even his friend. Not really. We’ve only just met. I told you that I’ve fainted and he brought me here.”

“Why did you faint?” Misses Tyrells continued.

“I was tired.” _God, when was this absurd interrogation ever going to end?_

“Why didn’t you go home if you were not feeling well?”

“I…” She hesitated what to tell her.

Misses Tyrell’s lips curdled slightly. “Right, you’re homeless then. Should have known right away.” She muttered, shaking her head. “He just can’t resist bringing home strays, can he? I keep telling him.” She came over to the kitchen table and set down her own glass and poured a full glass of rum in the other.

“Here take a sip if you want.” She offered. “You look like you could need some. It will warm you up. Just don’t finish it, leave a good half behind.” She screwed back the cap and stored the rest of the bottle under the kitchen sink.

“No thank you.” Sansa muttered. “What I would like is to leave before he comes back.”

  
“Leave?” Misses Tyrell looked at her, raising her eyebrows. “You’re not going to leave my dear. At least, I would advice against it. King’s Landing is a rough neighborhood. Unless you want to get robbed or worse, you would be better off spending the night on the top bunk of Petyr’s bunkbed.”

“But I thought you didn’t want me to stay?”

“I did not want you to take advantage of him. You have convinced me that you wouldn’t. Petyr is a kind and sweet boy, but a complete utter idiot in all matters of life. You have no idea how awful most people treat him.” She gazed at Sansa as if she was still doubtful that she wouldn’t.

“He really should be looked after, but he has no-one, no family of his own.” She continued, finishing her rum in one swig. “When he first moved in he was receiving social security benefits for his disability. He had a social worker who came to check on him every week. Both were barely enough, but it was doable. But that was years ago. Now, he doesn’t receive even a penny or a measly phone call. Cuts in funding, you see. They basically sent him to the local shrink and asked him to sign the papers that he would be fine on his own.” Misses Tyrell sniggered sardonically. “If you have spent an hour or two with Petyr, you know he isn’t. It’s cruel to leave people like him to fend entirely for their own, but that’s our modern society for you. People are so obsessed nowadays with money and success, they prefer to forget the flawed and damaged among us.” 

She sipped from the second glass, leaving it half full before she walked back to the sink.

“What are you doing?” Sansa asked, watching her fill the glass up with tap water.

“Believe me dear, you will thank me later.” Misses Tyrell replied, just when they heard the front door slam shut. Petyr rushed into the kitchen, his cheeks flushed and eyes still wide with panic. “Got it!” He wheezed. His shirt was drenched in sweat. His damp dark curls were plastered over his forehead.

“Petyr dear.” Misses Tyrell told him in a reassuring voice. “I am fine now. Sansa found another bottle of pills. It was lying in the back of my night cabinet. I had forgotten all about it. It was rather silly of me.” Misses Tyrell took a brown bottle out of her pocket and rattled the content to show him. “Such a smart helpful young lady.” She gave Sansa a wink. “You don’t need to worry. I have taken a few and am already feeling much better.”

“You do? Oh that’s good news. Really really good news!” Although he was completely worn out, Petyr happily sank down in the chair opposite to misses Tyrell and Sansa and breathed out a deep sigh of relief. “God, I think I have just burst one of my lungs.” He muttered, rubbing over his chest while still panting like a dog.

“My dear boy, you look exhausted.” Misses Tyrell pushed the glass with watered down rum in his direction. “Here drink some water. It will calm you down.”

Sansa almost wanted to say something but noticed the look misses Tyrells was giving her. Petyr took the glass and downed a good gulp. “This is tasting a bit funny?” He noted, wrinkling up his nose.

“Must be rust again in the old pipes.” Misses Tyrell told him. “I will get someone to take a look at it. Just finish it will you? I need to do the washing up.” She tilted the glass and watched how Petyr meekly finished it to the last drop.

“Well done.” She said contently. “Oh by the way, Sansa is going to stay for tonight.”

“Are you really?” Petyr gasped, his face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Oh that’s so great! We’re going to have a super time together! A super time! I can show you the birds from my balcony tomorrow morning. There is a couple of starlings nesting in the tree just across of the road. Oh and do you want the top or bottom bunk? I don’t really mind, I can sleep anywhere. I’ll let you pick. You’re our guest.”

A bit overwhelmed, Sansa let herself be dragged out of the kitchen by a very excited Petyr.

“I take you two are also still hungry?” Misses Tyrell yelled after them. “I’ll get rid of the egg fossil and make something edible, shall I?”

 

2.

It took misses Tyrell hardly any time to cook up a supper for all three of them, and soon Sansa found herself sitting at the kitchen table with her strange hosts, eagerly wolfing down her plate of cooked peas and carrots with a side of brown rice. She was so hungry that she hardly noticed that misses Tyrell had been silently gazing at her for some time now.

“You’re not from around here, are you dear?” she commented rather pensively.

Sansa looked up and was surprised by the seriousness of the elder woman’s gaze. How come everyone she met in this place was asking her where she came from? Petyr mentioned she sounded northern, but she knew she didn’t. At least no-one at uni had ever mentioned it to her.

She was about to say something about it when misses Tyrell interrupted her.

“Sansa, can you move his plate away?”

Sansa gazed at Petyr who had been sitting very quietly for a while now, shoving the peas on his plate around without eating much of his food.

“Why?”

“Too many questions, just do it already.”

She did as she was told. Getting somewhat concerned about him being so unusually quiet, she gently shook him by his shoulder. “Petyr, are you all right?”

He suddenly sagged forward facedown over the table.

“Petyr?” Sansa asked worriedly, shaking him more fervently, but he was already too much gone to respond. Finally realizing what just had happened, she looked up at misses Tyrell.

“What?” the older woman replied, raising her eyebrows at her.

“You knew this would happen, didn’t you?” She said accusingly.

“Off course I did. One half a glass of rum, and it’s lights out for him within 20 minutes. It’s like clockwork. Oh don’t keep giving me that look dear.” Misses Tyrell replied. “You don’t want him to keep talking and keep you up all night, now do you? I didn’t do it for myself, I won’t hear a thing.” She tapped on her ear with her index finger. “When I have enough of him, I just have to switch off my hearing aid. It’s one of rare benefits of being near deaf when you’re living with someone like Petyr.”

She calmly stood up and started clearing the dishes from the table.

“Are you going to just leave him here?” Sansa asked, astonished.

“That’s what I normally would do.” Misses Tyrell replied. “It is fine. In his current state he will sleep through anything.”

Sansa looked at Petyr’s limp unconscious body that was already hanging half over his chair. “What if he keels over and falls?” She asked. “He could hurt himself.”

“Well if it worries you so much, why don’t you drag him to his own room. I am certainly not going to do it. Not with my hip.”

Sansa rolled her eyes and sighed. Being the kind hearted idiot that she was, she swung Petyr’s arm over her shoulder and, swaying like a mad pendulum, she managed to get and keep him on his feet long enough to move him through the hallway and into his room into his own bed. When he rolled into the lower bunk like a sack of heavy potatoes, she noticed that his set of binoculars was still dangling from a cord under his sweaty T shirt.

She also noticed that he had a narrow red patch of skin, like a jagged scar, that started just underneath his collarbone. It disappeared under the collar of his shirt.

Finding it strange, but feeling too exhausted to think too much about it, she went up the ladder and climbed into the upper bunk. Not before long, she had wrapped herself under the bedcovers, and as soon as she shut her eyes, she fell fast asleep.

_TBC_

 


	3. Chapter 3

1.

In her dreams, her memories of him were always jumbled up, the times that they had spend together boiling up from the bottom of some mad magical cauldron, never coming to surface in the right order, and despite being a dream, never allowing her to change anything, never giving her the chance to set things right between them both.

She was sitting with him in a quiet corner of a tavern. They must have been traveling together from the Vale. Her hair was dyed black and she was wearing her dark, low cut dress that she had made from the mourning dress that she had worn at her aunt Lysa’s funeral. She didn’t know it yet, but they were on their way to Winterfell. Her lord protector had secretly promised her hand to Ramsay Bolton for marriage. By doing so, he had betrayed her. After that, she would never be able to trust him again. But that was still yet to come. This was before everything went to hell between him and her.

“You never drink, do you?” She remarked, after he had declined the offer of a serving of ale from the tavern maid. “I never see you drink. Not unless you’re in the presence of some highborn lords and ladies.” And even then, she thought, you only take tiny sips, not want to draw attention to yourself.

“I am currently in the presence of a highborn lady.” He remarked, the corners of his mouth curling into a faint one-sided smile.

“Yes, but I don’t count, do I?”

“You count more than you think.” He leaned back in his chair, a bemused look in his eyes as he folded his hands over his lap. “I must say you’re becoming very observant.” He smirked.

“Don’t you like the taste?” She continued to ask, teasing him a little.

“I don’t _mind_ the taste. I just like my wits better. There is nothing more dangerous to a man’s life than having his tongue foolishly loosened by too much wine or ale.”

“I guess that was something that ser Dontos should have kept in mind.” She replied, sipping from her cup while watching him, searching for a response to the name of the man he had murdered to get her safely out of King’s Landing. There wasn’t any. To him, a man like Dontos was just a pawn. She could have waited till the earth stops turning and the whole of hell freezes over and still detect not a single trace of remorse on that face. 

“You don’t like to drink in public because it makes you feel vulnerable.” She told to him. It had not truly happened, not that night, not ever. Back then she did not know his secrets. Now she did.

“The truth is that you can barely drink more than half a cup of any strong liquor before you pass out within little more then half an hour. You know that. That’s why you always try to prevent it. It’s just like clockwork.” She whispered, unknowingly echoing misses Tyrell’s words. Then she remembered what her uncle Edmure Tully had once told her. It was many years afterwards, when the war against the White Walkers was won and the catastrophic reign of the Lannisters was but a distant memory. She had become the lady of Winterfell, and had invited Edmure and his family to spend the midwinter feast in the North. Her uncle Edmure, who grew up with Petyr Bealish and had given him Littlefinger as a cruel nickname, had insisted that his niece should have mounted his head on a spike after his execution. The little spineless double-crossing worm had not deserved any better, Edmure had slurred in her ear one night after having too much wine. It was however, also uncle Edmure who had told her what had truly happened between him, her aunt Lysa, and her mother.

“You loved my mother.” She told him. “You have never lied to me about that. When she became betrothed to my uncle Brandon, you were heartbroken. At their betrothal feast you danced with her all night, hoping that she would somehow reconsider, reciprocate your love, and finally see you the way you see her. She didn’t, and when you had finally picked up enough courage to kiss her she pushed you away. When she laughed at your intentions, you just smiled back while your heart broke in a millions pieces. You thought it would never heal again. For the first time in your life, you got yourself drunk. You got so drunk that you passed out on the table. My great uncle Brynden had to carry you back to your chamber. When my aunt Lysa sneaked in later that night, you believed it was my mother, even calling her Cat when she climbed on top of you and removed your clothes. You thought you made love to the woman you loved, while it was really my aunt Lysa. The next morning, you finally realized the horrible mistake you have made. Devastated and deeply ashamed, you swore to be never careless again, never to show any weakness that would allow others to take advantage of you, and never again to loose control. That’s why you would never drink in public.” She whispered.

Her breath formed clouds in the frosty air. She was alone in the great hall at Winterfell, many winters after uncle Edmure himself had passed away. She was an old woman now, her auburn hair long faded into a wolf’s grey. She sat in her chair at the head table, on the exact spot where she had passed sentence on him so many years ago. Sometimes she believed she could still see the dark stains of his blood that had spilled over the cobble stones when Arya cut his throat. During those final days of her life, she often thought of him. When no one was around, she often found herself speaking to him too. But like in her dreams, the past was gone and buried, all set in stone, and she could do nothing to change it.

 

2.

She woke with a strip of sunlight dancing across her face. The last traces of her dream clung onto her, before falling back into the dark pit that was blissful nothingness. She opened her eyes and saw the morning sun shining through a narrow band between the dusty curtains. She had spent the night in the upper bunk of Petyr’s bunkbed.

Slowly and carefully, Sansa climbed down the rickety ladder. When she looked in the lower bunk, she noticed that her friendly host was still fast asleep, his cheeks still slightly reddened by the hot flush of alcohol.

Perhaps it was the hidden workings of the remnants of that dream, or the unusual quiet peacefulness of his stupor, but she finally found a soft spot in her heart for this strange man, who had scared and irritated her so much when she first met him. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but she really couldn’t stay. So she tucked the bedcover under Petyr’s chin, and watched him turn on his side and mumble in his sleep, before quietly picking up her coat from the chair. Careful not to wake him, she gently shut the door behind her and made her way down the hallway to the front door. She was near the kitchen when she encountered misses Tyrell.

“Good morning dear.” The older woman told her, observing her closely.

To be frank, Sansa had not expected to see her again. “Oh, good morning misses Tyrell.”

“Up so early already? Did you not sleep well?”

“Yes. Yes I did. I slept very well.”

Misses Tyrell noticed her coat. “Where are you going?” She asked with a mild smile curdling the edges of her wrinkled mouth.

“I was…I was going to…”

“Oh shut up.” The smile completely vanished from her face. “If you‘re so bad at making excuses better not even try. Here let me summarize it for you. It saves us both time. You were going to sneak out of here before he wakes up.” The elder woman huffed. “It’s hardly original. In fact, it happens so often that it is starting to get dull.” She turned her back on Sansa and waddled back to the kitchen table. “What are you waiting for, go on then. Leave. You’re not the first one who walks out on him, and you won’t be the last.”

Misses Tyrell’s words pricked like a thorny rose bush in her heart.

“Please tell Petyr that I am very thankful to him that he has helped me last night.” Sansa told her, feeling very guilty. “You too misses Tyrell, thank you for letting me stay.”

“Call me Olenna.” She remarked, placing her cane against the side of the table and sitting herself down. “Everybody else in King’s Landing does so. Only Petyr, bless him the little lunatic, keeps calling me misses Tyrell, no matter how many times I tell him not to. It makes me feel absolutely ancient.” She glanced up at her. “So where you going child? Home?”

Sansa shook her head.

“You really should go home.” Olenna noted, slowly shaking her own. “Like I said before, you are not from around here. You shouldn’t even be here.”

“I do realize that this is a rough neighborhood.” Sansa admitted. “I was planning to take the bus back to the city center this afternoon.”

“That was not what I meant.” Olenna sighed. “This cursed place is not for an innocent sweet young soul. You should go back to your family. Father, mother, sister and brothers. In the end, family is all we have left.” She explained, visibly moved by her own words. “I would have left King’s Landing to join my idiot son and my two sweet grandchildren if I could, if I was ever given the chance, but I can’t.”

Similarly touched and troubled by Olenna’s strange words, Sansa suddenly felt a cold shiver running over her spine.

“I must be going. It was very nice meeting you both.” She told her, not knowing what else to say. She shrugged on her coat and turned to leave.

“A little bit of advice dear.” Olenna told her. “Petyr is going to wake up soon. When he notices that you are gone, he will go out looking for you. If you don’t want to bump into him again, make sure that you stay a few blocks away from here.”

“I told you, I was going to the take a bus to the city.”

Olenna’s lips curdled into a sour smile. “That is very good. All I am saying is that it might take a while before you find your way out of King’s Landing.”

 

3.

The morning sky was bright orange, illuminating the ugly concrete blocks of council flats around her like they were blackened walls exposed to the furnace of a blistering oven. Tiny dust particles, flakes of ash it appeared, were drifting down from the smoke rising from the chimneys of the nearby factories. It made the cold morning air taste like cinder on her tongue as she hastened down the streets. She had already walked several blocks around the neighborhood, still she had yet to recognize anything from her journey yesterday with Petyr. She could not even find the small park in which she had spent her first night, being pretty sure that they had walked pass it on the way to his flat. Everything just looked confusingly unfamiliar and strange. After a long hour of wandering around, she finally found another bus stop opposite of a greasy spoon café. The signs on the bus shelter indicated that the all of the bus lines were heading to London city center. When she went looking for a time table, she couldn’t find one. Figuring that a bus, _any bus_ , would have to turn up eventually, she sat down on the bench to wait. There was a young boy, perhaps 9 or 10 years old, sitting there already. He was carrying a heavy-looking backpack and was dangling his feet over the side.

“Hello.” She gave him a friendly smile.

“Hi.” The boy replied softly, but did not turn to look at her.

“Excuse me, do you know when the next bus to the city area is going to turn up?”

“It comes when it comes.” He muttered timidly, and kept avoiding her, apparently too busy with swinging his feet. 

“I was just wondering because there doesn’t seem to be a time table. Do you really have no idea how long it takes?”

“Maybe 2 hours. Maybe more.”

Sansa raised her eyebrows in astonishment. “Are you sure? On a Tuesday morning? During rush hours?”

The boy just shrugged and kept staring at the road.

“Are you going to visit someone?” She asked, figuring the boy must be very shy. She didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable. “You’re taking a lot with you in your backpack.”

“I want to go home.” The boy muttered, looking down at his shoes.

His answer struck her as a bit odd. Maybe he was visiting someone in King’s Landing and he got homesick. “How long have you been waiting here?” She asked him, fearing that they will be stuck here together for a while.

“I don’t know. Years I think. It’s been so long. I lost count.”

Sansa just assumed that she had not heard it right, or that it was just a cheeky joke to shut her up, but the expression on the boy’s face was one of pure misery.

“I want to go home.” His eyes were getting moist and his lips pulled into a sad pout. “I miss my mum and dad. I miss my little sister. I miss the farm. I really want to home. I hate this place. I hate it. I want to see my parents again, but they won’t let me.”

“Who won’t let you?” Sansa asked worriedly, just when the bus appeared around the corner.

Suddenly, the odd little boy jumped off the bench and was running toward the curb.

“Hey!” Sansa shrieked, realizing that the bus was still driving way too fast and was probably not going to pull over. “Watch out! Don’t!”

But the boy fully ignored her and ran straight up the road. As the huge vehicle continued to approach, she had hoped that the driver would see him by now and hit the brakes hard, but the bus didn’t stop. It didn’t even slow down. It was going to hit the little boy for sure. She cried out but could do nothing to prevent it. Just when she was going to shut her eyes and turn her face away from the horrible accident that was about to happen, the boy was dragged out of the path of the speeding vehicle, and disappeared from her sight behind the passing bus.

Her heart fluttered in her chest as she ran across the road. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that the boy was not hurt, only a bit stunned. A scruffy looking man was holding on to his arm, screaming in the boy’s pasty face in a loud raspy voice.

“Olly! What were you doing? I told you that the bus won’t stop. It never does! Are you going to keep trying this every morning till you get yourself killed? You little twat!” He shook the boy so violently that his backpack was slipping down his shoulder.

“Hey! Stop that! Can’t you see he is terrified?” She placed her hand on the boy’s arm in an attempt to comfort him, but he shrunk away and shrugged it off. The scruffy looking man who had saved the boy’s life straightened his back and looked at her with a deep contempt in his icy gaze.

“Who are you to fucking tell me what to do, you dumb cunt?” He spat back at her. “You’re not even from around here.” He turned his attention back to the traumatized boy. “How many times did I tell you to get it out of your stupid little head?” He continued in a somewhat kinder voice. “The bus is not going to stop for any of us. You can’t get out of King’s Landing. Not you. Not me. Not this way.“

“But I said I was sorry.” The boy Olly replied, fat drops of tears were now running down his flustered cheeks. “I am sorry for what I did. I really am.”

“Yeah, well, we all are.” His guardian sniggered most sarcastically. “It doesn’t do any of us any good to keep on crying about it, now does it?”

Olley sniffed his nose and wiped the wetness from his face before responding with a timid little nod.

“Let’s get back.” The scruffy man took the boy’s hand and guided him to the pavement on other side of the road with a gentleness and care that she had not expected from such a brute. When they walked pass her, the man gave her a cold lingering stare, as if to remind her to keep her mouth shut.

Very much confused by what she had just witnessed, Sansa breathed out a deep ragged sigh when she watched the strange duo disappear from her sight. This place was completely weirding her out, and she had little desire to stay any longer and bump into another one of the highly eccentric locals. They were all bloody nutcases. She just wished another bus would turn up soon to take her far away from here.

Cold drops were falling on her cheeks. It started to rain, first timidly, but soon the drops became fatter, till it had turned into a torrential down pour, splashing down on the pavement and pouring down the leaky roof of the broken bus shelter in icy streams. Despite her long coat, she was getting completely soaked. Shivering and getting cold to the bones, she rushed across the road and into the nearby café.

 

4.

The shop bell rang when she entered. For a short moment all the costumers looked up at her before returning their gaze to their plates of food or cups of hot comfort. She held her head down, shivering, and dripping like a wet dog, she walked over to the counter, and ordered a cup of tea.

“Just tea dear? Nothing else?” The elderly man behind the counter asked her. He had a sharp face and intelligent look in his eyes.

She nodded. She did not have a lot of money left, so she had to be careful on what she was going to spend it. After receiving her order, she went over to a quiet corner, and sat down at a small table covered with greasy stains facing the window. Nursing her cup as long as she could, she waited, keeping an eye on the bus stop outside, while the rain continued to pour down, somehow managing to make everything look even more miserable than it already did. She was still waiting, and her cup had already cooled down from scalding hot to merely tepid, when the shop bell rang again and a group of three men entered the establishment.  

They were loud and mean looking, with bushy beads and tree trunk arms covered in tattoos. Sansa couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw how absurdly large one of them was. A mountain of a man, at least 2 meters tall, built like a Russian tank on steroids, with a neck as thick as an ox and a jaw shaped like an anvil. The two others, his mates, were hovering around him like pilot fish following a large hungry shark. Sansa watched how the group swaggered over to the counter, ordered three large pints and placed an order of food that was enough to feed an orphanage.

“That is 40 pound fifty please.” The man behind the counter told him. If the older man was intimated by these men, he did not show it.

The mountain did not say a word, but slammed his ham-like fist on the counter, making all the glasses and bottles shudder on the shelves and the rest of the clientele shrink back in fright.

“Or you could just have it on the house again.” The older man replied, only blinking once when the mountain was looking down at him with a dead look in his eyes.

The huge man made a sound in the back of his throat that could really be interpreted as anything.

“Sure mr. Clagane.” The shopkeeper replied, in a voice that must require a lot of self-control to appear so calm. “We will bring your order right up to you and your friends as soon as it is ready. Please take a seat.”

The mountain made another deep grunting noise, but the café owner’s words somehow had managed to penetrate through the man’s thick skull. He turned his back and sat down with his entourage, taking the table nearest to the door.

Before she could turn her face away, the two men who were following him had taken notice of her and were soon catcalling, pouting their lips and making disgusting kissing sounds.

“Hey pretty bird.” One of them purred. “Aren’t you the prettiest thing. Come and sit with uncle Euron.”

Sansa bowed her face over her cup and tried hard to ignore them. When the waiter finally came to bring the men their food she got a real fright when she heard the poor waitress cry out when she was slapped hard on her backside.

“You’ve got a lovely ass!” The one who called himself Euron told hre. “Why don’t you come sit with us?”

“I-I can’t. I am working.” The frightened girl responded.

“Fuck your work. You can come working for us. We can get outside and you can start taking it from behind in the back alley. I promise I will pay you more than that cheap cock behind the counter.”

Her boss was calling her. Somehow, the poor girl managed to wriggle out of that sleazy windbag’s hands and fled into the kitchen, her face as pale as a plate. After she was gone, the mountain turned his attention on the food, shoving it all down like he was shoveling coal into an engine. His vile mates returned their unwanted attention to Sansa.

“Hey! I was talking to you!” Euron called her, turning around and draping his arm over the back of the chair with a cocky grin. “Come on. Don’t be so shy. Turn around and show me your creamy white tits.”

Sansa shrunk down in her coat. Terrified, she glanced around for help, but no-one in the café, not even the owner, wanted to have anything to do with this obnoxious gang. They were all either gazing away or were looking as helpless and scared as she was.

“I need to take a piss.” The mountain suddenly announced, and rose to get to the gents at the back of the café. Euron and his other mate were hardly distracted by his absence. “Hey! Bitch!” Euron called out, sounding a bit irritated now. “Why don’t you look at me? I was talking to you, you frigid little cunt. I said turn around, and show us your tits!”

Sansa wanted to get up and run, but she didn’t dare going pass these two when they were sitting so near the door. However, if she didn’t go now, their oversized friend was going to come back soon. With her heart bouncing in her chest, she braced herself and was ready to bolt, when the shop bell rang again and a very familiar loud voice greeted everyone in the café in a most cheerful way.

“Hi there!” Petyr said with a friendly grin. He was carrying a red plastic bucket with a sponge and brush rattling inside. “My name is Petyr and I am here to offer my professional car wash services for a small fee. Now, does anyone here own a car?”

There came no response. Everyone inside the café was either pretending that they had not heard him, were gawking at him like he was a complete lunatic, or were glancing up with extreme annoyance, particularly the two assholes who had been harassing her.

“Ah, come on!” He said, still smiling. “Someone here must own one. I am only charging 2 pound fifty an hour. It is a real bargain!”

“Petyr, now is perhaps not the time.” The owner of the café told him in a quietly, obviously trying to get him out of harm’s way. “Go home to Olenna and come back when it is less busy in the shop.”

“I am not here to cause any troubles mr. Qyburn I swear.” He replied with an innocent expression on his face. “I am only trying to earn a bit of money to pay the rent to misses Tyrell. That is all. I will be out of here real quick.” He turned his attention to the clientele. “Do you own a car sir? No? How about you miss? Does it need a good wash? Only 2 pound fifty. I promise I will do a hell of a job.”

Sansa pulled her hood over her head so Petyr wouldn’t recognize her immediately by her auburn locks. When he came nearer, she shrunk further down in her chair, almost hiding halfway under the table while she kept shielding her face with the palm of her hand to prevent him from noticing her. As expected, no one wanted Petyr’s services, most of them reminding him in the most rude and unkind possible ways that it was bloody raining outside, and that only a moron would offer to wash a car in this weather. Not easily discouraged, he continued to ask around, and was soon getting very close to where she sat.

Sansa’s nerves were near breaking point. She was about to jump up and get the hell out of this hellhole before Petyr had the chance to recognize and draw more attention to her, when Euron called him over rather unexpectedly.

“Hey you! You wash cars?”

His mate was sniggering and elbowed him in his side, but Euron’s face kept faking seriousness.

“Yes!” Petyr replied, his face beaming with joy that he had finally found a potential costumer. “Yes I do. Do you have work for me sir? Do you have a car that needs a good cleaning?”

Euron scraped his throat to stifle a giddy laugh before he could muster a reply. “Uhm, as a matter of fact, I do.” Eyes wide and nodding in a mock imitation of Petyr’s manners. “I ran over a hare this morning when we drove over here. Bits of its severed head are still stuck in the front grille. The motor is making all kinds of funny noises because of the blocked airflow. If you clean it up, I will pay you 3 pounds for it.”

“3 pounds? Wow that is more than normally I charge. I only charge 2,50 an hour sir.”

“Yeah I know. Seems like the appropriate reward for that amount of work.”

“Are you really going to pay me 3 pounds for only that?” Petyr repeated, still astonished, and still not believing his luck. “It would probably not take me an entire hour to clean it out.”

“I am a very generous man.” Euron replied, trying to keep a straight face as he placed his right hand over his heart.

“Stop it Euron. I am pissing my pants!” His mate laughed, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you, sir.” Petyr replied most seriously, having not picked up anything at all, and suspecting even less. “If you pay me three pounds, I promise to do a hell of a job for you. I’ll get every bit out and make that grille sparkle. You won’t hear any funny noises coming from your engine any more, I promise you that.” He peered out of the window. “Which car is yours?”

“The red one.” Euron replied with a grin. “The mini truck parked right in front of the shop.”

“No problem! I will get it cleaned for you in no time! I got professional gear with me.” He said, waving the dry sponge in the air as he stepped outside. “Won’t take longer then a sec, I promise.”

“I have every faith in you.” Euron replied, finally cracking up. “Go and knock yourself out.” He yelled after him, while his mate was laughing so loud that he was almost rolling off the table.

Sansa saw Petyr through the window, looking at the front of the mini truck for a while, scratching the back of his head before he searched around and picked up a thin stick from the roadside. Her heart filled with cold dread when she watched him crouch down in front of the car and stuck the stick in the grille, wriggling and sweeping it around while he held his head to one side to try to catch a glimpse of the imaginary dead animal.

Euron and his mate were still laughing their pants off when the mountain returned from his long visit to the little boy’s room. Following the gazes of his idiotic gang, he looked out of the window, and after noticing what Petyr was doing with the truck, his large head immediately turned a very fierce shade of red.

“That faggot is messing with my car!” He bellowed, spittle flying from his lips, his eyes wide and manic. He burst outside, nearly tearing the door from its hinges. “I am going to rip his fucking head off!” He yelled as he rushed out into the street. His two sniggering mates gazed at eachother with a mad excited look on their faces, before they went running after him, eager to go watch the bloody outcome of their amusing little joke.

 _This_ was the opportunity that she had been waiting for. Like a coiled wire, she sprung up from behind her table and ran out of the café, keeping her eyes in front of her and walking fast, her hood bouncing against her back. As she stepped on the wet pavement and over the countless of pools, she forced herself to stop thinking about what those brutes were going to do to Petyr.

She couldn’t really help him. What could she do? She was terrified. These men were absolutely malicious, and that mountain guy had fists like solid bricks. He was going to break every bone in her body if she tried anything to stop him.

He was probably going to break every bone in Petyr’s body as well.

She slowed down her steps. Images of that kind idiot lying face down in a pool of his own blood with his head kicked in surfaced in her mind and burdened her conscience, till it started to weigh down her feet so much that she could hardly take another step away from the whole mess.

She couldn’t leave him behind. They were going to kill him. Someone had to stop them.

Once again calling herself a complete idiot to even try, she turned around and ran back in the direction of the café.

 

_TBC_

 


	4. Chapter 4

1.

Petyr had hardly noticed that he had wandered into the Godswood on his own.

Ever since he had spoken with Roose Bolton at the dinner table, his mind had become too much distracted. A dangerous thing to allow to happen, considering his alliance with the Boltons was still in its fragile early stage and he wasn’t safe, despite the large number of knights he had brought with him from the Vale. Winterfell was not his home territory. It was the Boltons, or at least it was for now.

_Who knows what could happen in a few months time._

It wasn’t really his fault that he was distracted.

It was Cat’s.

They had been going through the details of Sansa’s position at Winterfell after the wedding to Ramsay, and Petyr’s role in securing the North for the new pair, just like two twisted versions of proud fathers would device plans for the future of their beloved children, when Roose said something to him that completely shattered his concentration, like a blow of a smith’s hammer through a stained glass window.

“You were very close to the mother of our bride to be, weren’t you lord Bealish?” Bolton smirked. “I’ve heard many rumors.” He added, sipping wine from his cup.

An image of Cat surfaced, the way she was the very last time he ever saw her. Her eyes shut, her beautiful face strained with grief when he delivered his husband’s remains to her. _Dead Ned’s bones._ _So much grief for such a blunt, rusty old tool._

If Roose Bolton had been a little bit more observant, he would have noticed the slight twist in the corner of Petyr’s mouth. He would have noticed that he was digging the rim of his thumbnail into the flesh of his index finger. But Roose Bolton wasn’t that kind of man. He knew how to throw out the line, but wasn’t smart enough to realize that a fish didn’t necessarily need to splash in the water when it was hooked.

“We grew up together. I was a ward of her late father, lord Hoster Tully.” Petyr replied in a casual, matter of fact voice. “We used to be close when we were children, but after her marriage to Eddard Stark and she became lady of Winterfell, we lost contact for many years. ”

_Always feed them a bit of truth, so they will swallow the lie more easily._

To make sure that Roose Bolton knew that he was not affected his words, he added; “I heard that you and Walter Frey had given her and her eldest boy a most memorable wedding feast. What was it again, a thousand Northern warriors of various noble houses, slaughtered in cold blood in one single night?”

“Although I did participate, my contribution wasn’t really that significant.” Bolton responded, hardly blinking an eye as he tried to feed him his own lies. “Most of the butcher work was done by the Freys.” He added, taking another swig from his wine.

“Oh, but that is not what I heard.” Petyr smiled, shaking his head. “Come come lord Bolton, you should not be so modest! After all, it is for good reason that you were named warden of the North by Tywin Lannister. The realm will still be singing songs of your - no doubt - most indispensable contributions to the Red Wedding for many _many_ years to come.” He told him with a faint smirk. “Particular here in the North. They will be singing it for quite some time before they can forget, if they ever do.” His smirk widened into a grin. “You know how these Northeners are. Skulls as hard as rocks, but such _outstanding_ memories.”

“Did you know how she died?” Roose interrupted him. “One of Walter’s boys slit her throat after she had been begging on her knees like a lunatic for us to spare the life of her boy. As if we would ever let him go.” He sniggered, glaring at him with a nasty glint in his eyes.

 _Maybe he isn’t so clueless after all._ Petyr thought. M _aybe he is just a bloody sadist._

“You should have seen her. She was bleeding like a slaughtered animal. The sound that that woman made when we shot her boy’s heart full of arrows, it was like a call of a pig in heat.” He smiled and produced a series of hysterical wails to mock her screams. “Like some bitch swine that was being taken from behind.” Roose added with a cold grin, calculative eyes shining with amusement.

Petyr slowly rose from behind the table.

“You are leaving so soon, my lord?” Roose asked, his cold grin still plastered on his face, but now it was carrying a hint of smugness. “Did you not enjoy the food? Or was it my company? Forgive me, but have I upset you with my tales?” He asked, faking innocence.

“My lord.” He managed to reply with a short courteous bow. His hands were sweating and he wanted to spit in the man’s face, pick up a table knife, stab out Roose Bolton’s eyes and run it across his throat to make him scream like the sadistic murderous swine that he was. But on the outside, Petyr appeared perfectly calm. He remained fully in control, as always. “There is no place for such grace in the harsh world we live in.” He told him, faking a smile. “I am, foremost, a practical man. Our alliance stands. Now if you would excuse me. I need to write a reply to Cercei Lannister. If I have remembered it correctly, you have requested to read it before I send the raven back to the capital. I better get to it.”

He left the great hall, but instead of going to his chamber to produce the letter, he kept wandering outside in the snow. In his head, the sky was raining fire and brimstones over the Boltons. He imagined, no could actually see, right before his eyes, how Stannis Baratheon’s army, who he knew was camped further up north and was two times the size of the Bolton’s, would sweep through the gates of Winterfell and slaughter them all, ridding this world once and for all from the tainted inbred legacy of this vicious, sadistic traitor. He stored that image into his memories, and swore that he would do anything he could to pull that image from his mind and into reality. Once he returned to the capital, he would make sure that Cercei was going to hear all the necessary details of how the Boltons had betrayed her family by letting Ramsay marry Sansa Stark. Lord Roose Bolton can forget about the Lannisters sending him any troops once he found himself under siege by the Baratheon army. He could wait till kingdom come for his salvation. One day, Petyr was going to relish the knowledge that the mighty lord Bolton had begged for his life, crying on his knees like a lunatic during his final moments, and had screamed like a slaughtered pig while a skilled executioner butchered his throat.

His feet carried him to places in the castle he didn’t know and had never been before, but could imagine would have been frequently visited by Cat. He walked pass the stables, and saw her in his mind’s eyes saddling her favorite horse, which should be snow white with long silver manes and a soft grey muzzle, like she had told him many times when they were still children. He came to the sept, where she saw her again, dutifully kneeling in front of the altar of the seven, praying for the health of her father and the rest of her family.

He then crossed over the courtyard, went through a narrow gate that was half hidden from view, and stepped out into the Godswood. His boots sank deep into the thick blanket of virgin snow, his cape left a trail behind him as he walked towards the Weirwood tree. Its strange ancient face stared back at him with a judgmental sternness, the heart shaped leaves that were almost as red as Cat’s auburn locks whistled softly in the cold northern wind.

When they were young, Cat loved to escape the dreary castle environment of Riverrun and hide out in the woods and gardens with him. She loved everything green. The flowers and the summer canopy, the way the light shone through the leaves, the smell of spring grass after rain. Even all of her favorite silk dresses were green, bringing out the red in her hair and the velvet blue of her eyes.

He could not imagine that she could ever been truly happy up here in the North, where everything was dead, and barren, and cold. This place though, with it’s winter-red leaves and strange dream-like serenity, might have provided her with some comfort. A memory of home, and of sweeter days gone by. 

He had half-expected to see Cat here the same way she had haunted him all over the castle ever since they had arrived at Winterfell, but instead of finding her here, sitting in the snow, huddled in a thick winter coat with her back against the rugged grey bark of the ancient Weirwood, he found Cat’s daughter, sitting there all by herself.

Sansa.

In the beginning, when he first met her in King’s Landing, he was amazed by her naive innocence and had been amused by her sheer stupidity, the way she had so easily allowed herself to become a pawn and helpless plaything of the Lannisters or the Tyrells or anyone else with half a brain of wit. In his own cynical mind, he even believed for a long while that it was some sort of poetic justice, that all the horrible things that happened to her was some sort of punishment for what her cruel mother had ever done to him.

Then he abducted her, spirited her away from her tormentors from King’s Landing, because she had fitted in his plans, because he needed to possess this valuable piece and place her in the North so he could turn his many foes into make-shift allies. He still needed her. He needed her to win this game that he had played for so long that he had long forgotten what reasons he once had to do so.

In other words, she was just another pawn to sacrifice.

But then she was so grateful to him. She trusted him, and needed him, just like Cat once did. She trusted him more than she knew she should, for unlike Cat whose trust was naïve and blind, Sansa did know about him. Maybe it was the Stark’s wariness that she got from her father’s side. He saw it in her eyes, the way she observed him, and kept questioning his every action. She wasn’t the naïve empty headed child that he had first mistaken her for.

And then he kissed her in the Eyrie.

Unlike her mother, she had not pushed him away. He remembered that her skin and lips felt so cold that day that the snowflakes did not melt on her cheeks. When she pulled back, stunned and surprised, and he had looked into her eyes, he found something that he had never seen in her mother’s eyes, something that must have confused him as much as it had confused her.

Could it be…was it…acceptance?

He wasn’t deranged enough to believe that Sansa was Cat, or that Cat was Sansa. He wasn’t one of those poor lunatics that he had seen incarcerated in the dungeons of the red keep, chained up naked and dim witted, wailing about past glories, forever mourning the loss of loved ones.

But…he had not lied to Ramsay Bolton when he admitted that he had grown very found of Sansa during their travels together.

More than he was supposed to.

Certainly more than he should.  

_Stop it, stop it you idiot! Haven’t you learned anything from the dead Robb Starks, or Lysa Tullys, or Oberyn Martells in this world? Try to make enough sense of this and you’ll lose your mind. Try it long enough, and you’ll lose everything, you’ll lose the game, and you’ll lose your head._

He shut his eyes to clear his thoughts.

_Just another pawn to sacrifice._

_I am, foremost, a practical man._

With more determination in his stride, he walked over to Catelyn’s daughter, who turned to look at him, meeting his gaze with a faint smile.

Before she had spoken a word to him, he had fallen for it again. Instead of doing what he was supposed to do, talking into her so she would secure his alliance with the Boltons in his absence, his mind was wandering, trying once again to make some sense of it all.

 

2.

Petyr was too terrified to look into the face of the huge man who had picked him up from the ground with one single hand like he was a little doll and had thrown him most violently against the wall in the back alley behind mr. Qyburn’s shop.

“Sorry I didn’t know!” He cried out. “I didn’t know that you didn’t want me to clean your car. A-are you sure it’s yours sir?” Flashing his eyes at Euron who was standing right behind the giant, whose cocky face was now showing a wide, most anticipating grin.

“You think I cannot recognize my own car?” The mountain spat, forcing Petyr against the wall again, slamming his back so hard that it was as if he was trying to use his thin bones to break a bloody hole into the solid structure.

“No! I just thought…you are a very large man for such a small car, aren’t you?” He rambled, wincing out of pain. Nothing was passing through his brains now. He was too scared to think, and whatever came up first came streaming out like some wrecked train with broken brakes, heading straight for disaster. “You’re really really tall, you know. You’re absolutely gigantic. How could you even fit in there? Do you drive with your roof top open and your head sticking out?”

The mountain punched him hard in the face. He heard a nasty crack and the world swirled before his eyes. He still was seeing double when a second blow hit him on the side of his head. He lost his balance and fell to the ground. Terrified, he crawled into corner, hiding behind the garbage bins to try to dodge the horrible kicks and blows that kept raining down on him. “I am sorry! I am sorry!” He yelled, shielding his head with his arms. “I didn’t know that you didn’t want your dead hare removed from the grille! I really didn’t know! I didn’t know!”

“I am going to fucking kill you!” The mountain raged, eyes bulging, and cracking his knuckles that were now covered with Petyr’s blood. “I am going to run you over if you touch my car again! I am going to fucking grate your head against the fucking grille and make a fucking cheese sandwich out of your fucking face if you ever come anywhere near my car again!”

Petyr heard him loud and clear, but he couldn’t really answer back. By now, he was so far gone that he had forgotten how to speak. Instead, he made some sad whimpering noises, like an injured kitten that had been viciously stepped on, and didn’t even try to shield himself from the blows any longer, his arms falling limp by his side. The mountain, however, didn’t seem to know when enough is enough, and he would have certainly killed Petyr if it wasn’t for mr. Qyburn, who came rushing out of the backdoor of his kitchen.

“Mr. Clagane.” He said to the mountain, his voice loud but still relatively calm, considering the horrible circumstances. “Maybe you should stop now and come inside. Your second order is ready. You don’t want your food to get cold.”

Petyr could just see through his swollen hooded eyelids the willowy female figure standing right behind the café owner. He couldn’t really make out her face, but it was framed by a cloud of brilliant orange and red, like the leaves of the trees in late autumn.

“I didn’t order more food.” The mountain growled back at him.

“It’s on the house.” Mr. Qyburn added, not batting his eyelids as he stared at the giant man with a sudden air of authority.

Sansa thought that it would never work, but the giant brute finally let go of Petyr. Wiping his knuckles clean over his shirt, he turned slowly, like an oil tanker changing course, and began to stamp back to the café.

“Hey, is that all?” Euron asked, seemingly very disappointed that he won’t see anyone getting killed today. He ran after the mountain, who thankfully kept ignoring him. “Hey! That asshole touched something of yours!” He yelled after him.

“Get him out of here.” Mr. Qyburn told Sansa, after Clagane and his gang were gone.

“Thank you.” Sansa told him, rushing over to Petyr’s side. “Thank you for helping me.”

“Just get him out of his sight before Clagane finishes his meals and remembers that he was supposed to be killing someone. I can’t keep him off his back a second time. That monster is eating me out of my profits.” Mr. Qyburn muttered, before disappearing back into the kitchen.

“Petyr?” Sansa gazed worriedly at his face, which was all covered with fresh purple bruises. A thick stream of blood was oozing out of his left nostril. He was lying very still with his eyes closed. “Petyr can you hear me?” She repeated, shaking him gently, and fearing the worst.

He gave her horrible fright when his eyes suddenly snapped open. He struggled wildly to get away, half burying his face in the garbage.

“Petyr! Petyr!” She tried. “It’s me! Look at me! It’s me! It’s me!”

He stared at her wide-eyed till his memories finally kicked back into gear. “S-Sansa?”

 _At least he still remembers my name._ Sansa returned him a worried smile and held on to his shoulders to keep him steady as he got up.

“Sansa? Is that really you? W-what are you doing here? Oh my God, I am bleeding all over your nice coat.” He looked down at her sleeves and tried to wipe his blood off with a trembling hand, but only made it worse.

“Never mind that. Petyr, please, try to keep your head still for a moment.” She held his head straight, placing both of her hands on his temples.

“What are you doing?”

“I am checking if you have a concussion. I want to see if your pupils are fixed.” Sansa replied, remebering her first aid course at uni as she studied his grey-blue eyes.

“Wow, are you a doctor or something? Are you a GP? You certainly sound very doctory.”

“I am not a doctor.” Sansa sighed, this time more out of relief then exertion, which was a rare thing in her dealings with Petyr. “I don’t think you have a concussion, but we better go to the hospital and get you checked, just to be sure.”

“Oh no Sansa, I am fine really.” He straightened his baseball cap and looked at her with hooded eyelids while he managed to get back on his feet by himself, leaning heavily with his shoulders against the wall. “I got a noggin that is almost indestructible.” He knocked a few times on his skull to demonstrate, trying and failing to put her mind at ease. “I got a plate in my head you see, a metal plate. They have to kick through that one first if they want to get to my brains!”

Sansa just assumed that he was talking nonsense because he had just been beaten into a bloody pulp and wasn’t quite himself at the moment. “We have to get out of here.” She told him, remembering mr. Qyburn’s warnings. She took his arm and wrapped it around her shoulder. “If I help you, can you walk?”

Petyr nodded and the two of them somehow managed to make their out of the back alley at little more than a snail’s pace.

“I thought you were gone.” Petyr told her. “I’ve been looking for you the whole morning. I’ve been looking everywhere. I couldn’t find you.”

“I…I am sorry.” Sansa replied. “I should have waited till you woke up.”

“No it’s fine! You’re back now aren’t you?” He grinned happily. “You’re like one of my left socks.”

“Your what?”

“My left socks. One of my left socks!” For some reason, Petyr always thought that yelling the same thing louder would somehow help other people understand him better, which of course, it didn’t. “Well all of my left socks really. They always disappear you see. One moment they are lying in the drawer, the next they are gone. Just pooff! Gone up in smoke. It’s a complete mystery.” He gazed down at his shoes. “So I stopped looking. Not that I wanted to. I told myself that I should, because that is what I should to do if I want to find you again. Turns out, I was right. You’re exactly like all of my left socks. They turn up again just when I stop worrying about them, like when I have been wearing two right socks for weeks. It always works like that. I never get what I want when I go looking for it. It only shows up when I stop looking. I tell you, it’s like a miracle or something."

“I don’t think that’s called a miracle.” Sansa muttered, helping him to sit down on the bench of the bus shelter. It was hardly far enough away from the café to keep him out of harms way, but it had to do for now. Although Petyr looked wiry and thin, he was quite heavy, and she was knackered.

“How would you call it then?” Petyr asked.

“I don’t know.” Sansa shrugged. “A bloody tragedy?”

“A tragedy?” Petyr furrowed his brows. "Really?"

“If you never get what you want, no matter how hard you try or go looking for it, and only get it when you give up and don’t need it anymore. Yeah, I guess normal people would call it a tragedy.”

“I didn’t stop wanting to see you again.” Petyr replied, staring back at her with wide eyed confusion.

Sansa sat down next to him on the bench. “That’s not what I meant.” She gazed into his grey-blue eyes and suddenly felt a strange pang of regret in her heart. “What were you doing there inside the café?” She asked, trying to chance subject to distract herself from her feelings. If she was going to start to feel sorry for him now, she was never going to get out of King’s Landing.

“Ah, I was trying to offer my car wash services to earn a bit of money. I am an entrepreneur you see. I do all kinds of odd jobs for a living, whatever people want really. I clip hedges, and I clean out the bins...” He suddenly panicked and checked his plastic digital wristwatch for the time. “Oh my God, it’s been pass 2 already! I haven’t earned a single penny yet! I have to get going.” He grabbed his bucket and was about to dash.

“What are you doing? Sit down! You have just been beaten to a bloody pulp.”

“I am fine. I really am. I really need to earn some today money to pay the rent. I am two weeks behind already.”

“Wait! You’re not going back in there are you?” Sansa grabbed him by his arm and yanked him back inside the bus shelter when she noticed that he was clearly trying to head back to the cafe. “Are you nuts? They going to kill you when you show your face in there again.”

“But I need to make some money Sansa.” He told her, seemingly incapable of thinking up any alternative. “I am really behind with the rent. Misses Tyrell is a nice lady. She has been allowing me to stay while I didn’t make enough to pay her, and she let you sleep in the upper bunk last night. I don’t want to take anymore advantage of her. She needs the money. She lives all by herself, and if I want you to stay, I need to pay for your bunk as well. That’s 2 times 10 pounds a week.” Somehow he managed to wriggle himself out of his jacket, leaving her to hold on to the empty sleeves, while he stood there staring back at her in nothing but his T-shirt. “That’s like a ton of money! I can’t make that much money if I don’t work every day! So you see, I need to go. I need to find new customers.”

“Wait!” Sansa’s cried after to him, racking her brains to find a way to change his mind. “Couldn’t you go somewhere else? Just go around and ring people’s doorbells to ask if they want anything?”

“Yeah I tried that, but they won’t open the door. They used to, when I first started with my business. They would come when I rang the bell and ask me what the heck was going on. They don’t do that anymore. It’s like no-one is ever home during the day, or in the evenings.” He added, thinking it through. “Or if they are home, they usually yell at me through the tiny window, so I guess they don’t really want me to help with anything.” He shrugged.

“Okay…” Sansa muttered. “All right, how about trying your luck in another neighborhood?”

“What, you mean outside of King’s landing?”

“Yes. Outside King’s Landing.” _Or anywhere else where people don’t know you and aren’t sick of you yet._ “Somewhere nice and posh, where people have enough money to spend on your services?”

“Oh, that’s very clever.” Petyr said, after thinking it through. “You’re very clever Sansa! I have never thought of that. There must be plenty of people outside of King’s Landing who have loads of money and would want my services who I haven’t asked yet. Plenty of them!”

“Yes.” Sansa sighed. “And we can go visit them this afternoon if you like.”

Sansa thought that he might die of a sheer happiness, just right there in front of her. “You want to come along? Really? Oh that would be wonderful! I can show you everything! I show you how I work. I would be great!"

"Yeah sure. If you could lead the way?” She added, figuring she might as well take just a tiny bit of advantage from her good Samaritan actions. “So.” She said with a wide grin, clapping in her hands because she was so done with the place and ready to go. “Which way do we need to go to get London city center?”

“What? You want to walk there? Are you sure? That’s miles away. That’s gonna take hours and hours. We won’t get back before dark if we do that.” Petyr replied, shaking his head.

“Well we can hardly take the bloody bus, can we?” Sansa told him, biting on her lower lip. She didn’t know what was wrong with the damned busses in this neighborhood, but she definitely had enough of them.

“Why not?” He asked, rather cluelessly.

Sansa was about to blow up. _Is he serious?_ “They never stop in this place. I have been waiting here for an eternity! Nothing shows up and the only one that came by this morning nearly ran over a little boy, without even trying to slow down.”

“A little boy? Oh you mean Olly? Wasn’t mr. Thorne there to make sure he wouldn’t get himself hurt?”

Sansa was about to ask Petyr if he knew the strange duo, and what the heck was wrong with that creepy little boy, when she was interrupted by the sound of an approaching engine.

“Look! The bus is coming!” Petyr cheered, grabbing his bucket and shrugging his jacket back on. “Now we don’t have to walk all the way to the city, you see. It’s much more convenient to take the bus.”

“How is this even possible…” Sansa muttered under her breath.

“Oh it shows up quite frequently. I don’t know why people keep complaining about public transport in London, I really don’t get that much delays or anything. Every time I need to go somewhere, it shows up super fast. I hardly need to wait.”

He rummaged through his back pocket and dropped a few coins in the metal collector to pay for them both. “Top floor, right?” He said to Sansa with a wide smile, before racing up the winding staircase.

 

_TBC_

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

1.  
Once a month, when the moon was full and the stars were all correctly aligned and in the right position, Olenna Tyrell would receive a very special visitor. She always looked forward to that particular visit, and before he arrived, she would prepare everything well. This morning for example, she went to the nearby baker to buy fresh scones, and when she came back to the apartment she made some sandwiches, and boiled up the kettle for a nice cup of tea. She would particularly make sure that no-one else was home. Normally she would send Petyr on an errand to get him out of the house, but this morning he already left very early by himself to go look for the homeless girl. She figured it wouldn’t be before nightfall when he would finally give up and return home, giving her plenty of time to receive her secret visitor.

“Scones with strawberries and cream. Oh my, you are spoiling me aren’t you?”

Olenna turned around, the hot kettle still in her hand, and found her highly anticipated guest standing right behind her in her kitchen.

“God you gave me fright.” She muttered, putting the kettle down on the kitchen table. “Do you always have to show up like that? Why can’t you just ring the bell like everyone else?” She glared at her guest, a middle aged plump bald man dressed in strange eastern looking robes that looked very out of place in her tiny council flat. She gestured to him to sit down. “At my age, any scare could be my last, and then where would you be?”

“I assure you, my lady, I do have other assignments other than your good self, but of course, I would find it terribly tragic if you were to leave this place without first consulting me.” He replied, taking a seat. “It would be a real shame, considering that you are making such excellent progress.”

“Am I now?” Olenna sat down opposite to her visitor and lifted the lid to drop a teabag in the kettle. “When am I going to see my grandchildren again then?”

“Is that all you are going to ask me every time I visit?” He lamented, exaggerating a sigh.

“Is there any reason for me to want you here other than that?” She picked up a few cucumber sandwiches and put it on a dainty little pink plate before offering it to him.

“Ah, how kind of you that you have remembered, these are indeed my favorites.” The bald man replied with a friendly smile, taking the plate from her.

“Come on Varys, I need to know. I have been stuck in this hell-hole for centuries now. At least that is what I can remember. I wouldn’t hold it beneath you if you have lied to me about that too.”

“My dear lady Olenna, you know I haven’t, and I can’t.” Varys replied, nibbling on the sandwich with his pink held in the air. “I am just a messenger who happens to be your counselor. Meaning I can guide you in the right direction, but cannot predict or decide when you’re ready to leave. You have to ask the one who has put you here in the first place to fill in those details for you.”

“Ha, and who would that be?” Olenna scoffed. “The Gods of the Seven? The old gods? Or the lord of the light? Or maybe that new one that died on a cross? Go on then, tell me, you’ve never told me whose name it was I needed to curse for my unfortunate afterlife. It would be so very refreshing to know.”

“I very much doubt that cursing the name of the very deity you want to please is such a good idea. Why don’t you stick to what you do know and try to make the best of it?” Varys replied, looking rather difficult, while putting down the rest of the sandwich. “I would just hate seeing you here for another eternity. Not that I don’t like our little rendezvous, but your flat is rather depressing.”

“Oh stop it spymaster. I don’t need pity, especially when it comes from a man who has lost his balls. I am very much aware, lord Varys, that I am not an innocent flower. Never had been. Not even when I was younger. I did some pretty horrible things in my life, things that would repulse good honorable men. I am not proud of it, but I never regretted a thing, because I knew that they were necessary. They had to be done in order to protect my family. You know me well enough by now, don’t you? You know that I would do anything for them.” She leaned closer to Varys, her voice becoming a low dangerous whisper.

“That’s why your God is a complete and utter cunt for keeping me away from them for so long. I will never forget this. Not even when I do get out of here.”

She leaned back in her chair, a content smile curdled the corners of her mouth.

“All right then.” Olenna replied, taking in a deep long breath before going back to the madness of the day. “Let’s stick to the old game then. How far away from what I need to achieve am I? What more do I need to do?”

Varys scraped his throat, visibly affected by Olenna’s threats. “That depends. After your memories were restored, we have given you two charges to look after.”

“Ha! If you ask from me to redeem them both than I will certainly be stuck here for another eternity. No need for the wrath of your God to fall upon my head. It’s a fool’s errand that you have given me!”

“I do understand and can sympathize that Littlefinger can be a bit of a handful in his current condition –”

“I am not talking about Petyr. He’s witless, a complete idiot.” She said, waving her hand dismissively. “It was probably something your sadistic God had a real field day inventing as a punishment for the poor sod, but he is completely harmless.”

“Ah you’re talking about -”

Ramsay Bolton.” Olenna said, glaring at Varys. “He’s a vicious little monster, completely unredeemable.” She sighed deeply and fished the teabag out of the kettle. “Most of us have mellowed down since we ending up here. Some more than others, but Ramsay…it’s like the little beast feeds on it. Ever since he arrived here in King’s Landing, he has only become more violent, more cruel and more sadistic. I can tell you Varys, I am not easily scared off by anyone. Not even by Tywin or Cercei Lannister. When I saw the Lannister’s army at my doorstep in Highgarden and knew the game was up, I didn’t beg, I didn’t shed a single tear trying to preserve my life. But that Bolton boy, he scares me. He is the devil.” Olenna paused, and for a brief moment, the eunuch could clearly see the dread in the elderly woman’s eyes.

“So I take from all this that I won’t be making a visit to him any time soon.” Varys opted, offering his empty cup to Olenna.

“And I take from your dumb-folded response that I can forget about getting out of King’s Landing any time soon?” Olenna huffed, but still pouring his tea.

“Not necessarily. When I was still the king’s spider, I used to send out two little birds to do my biddings for every important errand that I received, just to make sure that the work gets done. You lost one little bird that you have taken under your wings, but the other is getting very close to arrival. I heard many good things about our late master of coin.” He added, taking back the full cup. “Oh no, thank you, no sugar please.” Waving a hand to decline her offer. He took a sip from the hot brew. “Oh Darjeeling. How lovely. Haven’t had that for a very long time.”

“I must say, it astonishes me that you think he makes any progress.” Olenna replied, stirring in her own cup with a small spoon. “If progress means that he is constantly being beaten, degraded, and humiliated, yes I agree, he had plenty of that. The poor boy can’t come home for even one single day without being covered in fresh bruises.” She placed her spoon on the saucer and took a pensive sip. “I never liked LittleFinger though. The man had the rodent air of a sniffling rat about him, one that mauls off your fingers just before it jumps a sinking ship.”

“And yet you took excellent care of him here in King’s Landing.” Varys commented.

“He hardly seems the same man now, does he?” Olenna shrugged. “Mind you, I had an inkling that he might had something to do with Cercei’s endgame, that he somehow was partially responsible for selling Loras’s secrets to that mad barefooted High Sparrow priest. I never had the opportunity to find out when I was still alive. When you first gave him to me to take into my care, I treated him absolutely horribly because of that, just like anybody else here in King’s Landing.” Olenna put down her cup. “That I do regret.” She added with a bitter grin.

Varys held her in his gaze for a moment before he replied. “What if I tell you now, that he did have something to do with your house’s demise, that he indeed provided, shall I say, a helping hand?”

Olenna gazed back at him, her mouth twisting into a sour smirk as if she had just been forced to swallow something rotten. “God you must despise him, don’t you? To want to keep kicking him down like that while he’s already so low on the ground.”

“Oh like I have told you before, I don’t despise him my lady. I used to admire him a great deal really. Now that he lost his wits I admire him even more.” Varys smiled neutrally, making it difficult for her to find out if this was the truth or just a particularly cruel joke. He took a scone from the serving tray. “Nothing shows you the true colors of a man better than when he has no more defenses, and no more masks to hide behind.”

Olenna gazed away thoughtfully for a moment, her fingers resting on her lips. “Did he really?” She finally dared to ask.

Varys replied with a solemn nod. “And, what would the answer be to my previous question, now that you know the truth?”

The woman who was once lady Olenna Tyrell of Highgarden gazed back at Varys in silence, before leaning forward and picking up her cup. “It was Littlefinger who helped in the downfall of my house.” She replied, perfectly calmly while taking another sip from her tea. “It wasn’t our Petyr.”

 

2.  
“You’re bleeding.” Sansa told him.

Petyr stopped gazing out of the side window and looked at her.

“You have a new nose bleed.” Sansa explained, pointing at her own nose.

Finally picking up what she meant, he swiped the back of his hand under his nose, and wiped the blood all over his upper lip.

“Oh yeah. I do.” He noted, returning her a smile. “Thanks for telling me, I didn’t notice. I really didn’t.”

He went through the seemingly endless number of pockets that his tweed coat had and produced a crumbled up piece of tissue paper. He twisted it a couple of times till it looked like a cigar. “Which side?”

“The left….Your other left.” Sansa corrected him. He finally stuck the tissue up the right nostril.

“Look, maybe we should head back.” She was getting concerned that that mountain bloke had done more damage to him then was visible on first sight. “It’s been more than two hours and you’re still getting nosebleeds.”

“Oh no, I am fine.” I get nosebleeds all the time. Nothing serious. It’s good that you told me though. I once had a massive nosebleed without knowing it, and that didn’t turn out so well. Some bloke I met in the street told me that I was bloody annoying him and punched me in the face, which was completely weird, you know, because it came totally unexpected and he had seemed so polite and pleasant in the beginning. Anyway, I had a nosebleed after he hit me, which was nothing special, because, you know that happens to me quite a lot. But then the next day, when I was working and was going from door to door trying to sell my services, people looked at me all funny. They made all sorts of funny comments. Like ehm - what are you trying to do, scare my kids? - Or - Do you think it’s Halloween or something, you retard! And one nice old lady, who looked really pasty and had stared at me through her front door window for a pretty long while before opening the door said she was going to call the police if I didn’t fuck off.” He raised her eyebrows at her. “Completely crazy, not? Normally people just tell me to go away or slam the door shut in my face. Turns out, I had a massive nosebleed for the entire afternoon. I literally had blood dripping from my chin and my T shirt was completely soaked with it. Haven’t noticed a thing.” He grinned, slapping himself on the forehead. “So you see, this is no biggy. As long as I find out in time and do something about it, and don’t scare people with blood dripping all over my face, it’s fine really.”

“How long does it take till we get to the city?” Sansa sighed, not knowing how to respond to his bizarre story other then to make a mental note to keep a good eye on him for the rest of the day and pluck that blood soaked tissue out of his nose before she let him face the public. “We’ve been on this bus for over an hour already.”

“Oh that could take what -” He paused and took a long look at his wristwatch. “Another hour, maybe more, probably more?”

“Another hour?” Sansa thought that she was going to lose her mind. “Where the heck is King’s Landing? Is it on the edge of the bloody world or something? How can it even still be considered part of London if you have ride the bus for over two hours to get anywhere?”

“Oh, It’s far. It’s really far away.” Petyr nodded. “That’s why the rent is still so low in King’s Landing. None of the posh people have gotten there yet to gentrify everything, otherwise I would be sleeping out in the streets. I can’t afford to pay hundreds of pounds per week to rent my lower bunk.” He paused and noticed that Sansa who was starting to nod off. Her eyelids were dropping and her head nodded with the movements of the bus.

“If you want to sleep. Just sleep.” He told her kindly. “I will stay awake. I take the bus to the center all the time. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

Sansa nodded and put her head against Petyr’s shoulder. The cloth of his jacket felt warm and soft. It smelled of him and cleaning liquid. Soon, she found herself drifting off.

She was dreaming again, back in that strange place that she so frequently visited in her sleep. They were sitting side by side, she and her mentor, in a closed black carriage, and were traveling up north in full secrecy. The journey was long, and she had slept poorly last night at the inn. Although she tried very hard, it was impossible to stay awake.

“You should rest.” Petyr told her, noticing that her eyes were weighted down heavy with sleep. His voice was soft, a strange mix of honey and raspy sandpaper, just like she remembered it should be, but for some reason, it now sounded strange in her ears as well. “It is still a half day ride to the next inn away from moat Calin. I shall keep an eye on things.”

She nodded and rested her head against his shoulder. She didn’t want to admit it, not even to herself, but being so close to Petyr made her feel very safe. It made her feel like she had regained a part of her innocence, of being just a carefree child who knew that she was being taken care of and was being protected. It was a part of her fragile young self that she thought she had lost forever the day Joffrey had ordered ser Ilyn to bring him her father's head. She nudged her cheek against the soft fabric of his black cloak, which smelled of him and the woodsmoke of last night tavern. As the carriage continued to shake, driving over the muddy roads, she shut her eyes.

“Sansa? Sansa?”

She stirred a little, rubbing her cheek against the comfortable warm fabric, before reluctantly peeling her eyes open.

“Do you think this is posh enough Sansa?”

For the first time since she had these strange dreams after arriving in King’s Landing, the memory of it lingered after the veil of sleep had lifted. His jacket still carrier the faint scent of woodsmoke and the bus in which she woke up in felt familiar and alien to her all at the same time, confusing her even more.

“Where are we?” She began to sit up straight, half-aware that she had been drooling over him while she was sleeping. “Are we in the city center?” She winched when she noticed the damp patch on his shoulder, and quickly swiped under her chin, but Petyr being Petyr, had hardly noticed, or was simply too kind to mind. _This is so odd,_ she thought. She had no idea where it came from, but she had the strange feeling that she had known Petyr for a very long time. She thought she had done this before, traveling with him and falling asleep with her head against his shoulder. _Which is of course a stupid thing to think. We’ve met only yesterday._

“I dunno. Wait here comes a sign.” Petyr squinted his eyes and tried to read it. “It says Kensington. What do you think Sansa? Do you think this is posh enough to try?”

“Oh you bet.” She pushed in the red button to request a stop, while shaking her head to clear her thoughts.

“I am worried.” Petyr told her, after they had gotten off the bus and were walking down the neat neighborhood with the grand terrace houses with the white Georgian facades. “I have not offered my services to posh people before. I don’t think I know how to talk to them.” He added, suddenly a bit shy.

“Just do what you normally do. Go up to the front door, ring the bell, and offer to wash their cars. It’s going to be fine.” At least the changes are much slimmer here that they will beat you into a bloody mush if you annoy them. Sansa thought to herself.

“What do you think, shall I start with this one?” He halted in front of a large terrace house with a big black BMW parked in front.

“Yes why not.” Sansa encouraged him. “Wait.” She quickly took out the bloodied tissue out of his nose and made sure that there was no more blood clinging onto his scruffy beard. “Okay.” She smiled. “You’re good to.”

He walked up the front garden and was about to ring the bell when he glanced back nervously at her. “Do you think they’re nice people? Like in King’s Landing? They are not going to punch me in the face again are they?” Sounding a bit afraid. “Not that I mind but, I probably have to lie down again if they do. I have already lost the entire morning and the early afternoon.”

“You’re going to be fine. The people living here are much nicer than at the estate. You will see.” She told him with a reassuring smile.

Encouraged by her words, Petyr sucked in a deep breath, produced a smile that was more like a nervous grimace than his usual genuine grin, and pushed in the doorbell.

It took a couple of rings before someone came to the front door. A man appeared, dressed in a neatly trimmed dark blue suit. He was busy with talking on his mobile. “Hang on there a sec.” He sneered down the line, cocking his head to keep the phone pinned between his ear and shoulder as he held the door and stared at Petyr. “What do you want?” He asked, in a not so friendly voice.

“Good day sir.” Petyr replied, widening his nervous smile. “My name is Petyr Bealish. I am here to offer my car wash services to you. For only 2 pound 50 an hour, I will wash your car for you.” He pointed at the BMW parked in front of the house.

“No thanks.” The man muttered moodily and was about to slam door shut in Petyr’s face when he managed to put his feet between the door.

“Are you sure sir? Your car is really dirty. You shouldn’t have parked it under a tree. It’s all covered in bird poop. I can get rid of it and make it really shiny for you so you can take it on a spin with the misses in the weekend. It’s going to be lovely weather for a long drive.”

“I don’t have a misses.” The man grunted back, giving him a nasty glare.

“Oh you don’t? Oh that’s too bad. But it never hurts to have a clean car. I can clean your tires for you as well, if you want. Nobody ever looks at the tires, but all sorts of dirt can cling onto it. It’s really unsafe to drive with dirty tires. I have special equipment to get between the profiles.” He picked up the brush out of his bucket and showed it to him. “You don’t find that kind of service anywhere else. It’s a bit of a specialty of mine.”

“Look you moron.” The man told him, his neck and face had turned a bright red. “I don’t own a car. Not anymore, thanks to my bloody useless lawyer. I am on the phone with my soon to be ex wife, if you want to wash her car, go ask her.”

“Oh can I?” Petyr asked hopefully. He stepped forward and was about to take the mobile out of the man’s hand.

“Petyr no!” Sansa was jumping forward but before she could do anything, the angry man had punched Petyr in the face and pushed him so hard back that he fell on the ground. “No don’t hurt him!” She cried out.

“Are you with this retard?” The man barked at Sansa.

“Why did you do that?” Sansa yelled back, helping Petyr back up and shielding him off so the bastard could not hurt him again. “He was just asking if he could wash your car! He was not harming anyone!”

“Get this shit-head off my property, or I am going to call the police.” The man fumed back. “You hear me? Get him out of my sight!” And with that said, he slammed the door shut.

“Petyr, are you all right?” Sansa asked worriedly. He was still too wobbly on his legs to walk around, but she didn’t dare to let him sit down anywhere near that brute’s house so she took him across the street and let him lean against a nearby fence. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, no, don’t worry, I am fine.” He replied, blinking his eyes fervently as he tried to regain focus.

“It’s all my fault.” Sansa’s voice was soft with guilt. “I shouldn’t have taken you here.”

“No, no it’s not your fault.” He replied, trying to stop her from worrying. “You were right. They are much nicer here. He didn’t even close his fist when he punched me. It was more of a slap in the face really. See.” He smiled at Sansa with a somewhat dazed expression on his face. “No nosebleed. Says it all. I think he was really holding back. He didn’t want to hurt me. Not really. Back in King’s Landing, when they are angry, they always make a good solid fist.” He blinked a few times before trying to stand on his feet.

“Okay, let’s try the next one.” He sank back against the fence. “Just give me a sec to get this double vision out of the way.”

“Petyr, maybe we should go home.” Sansa tried.

“Oh no, we can’t. We really can’t.” He replied stubbornly. “I owe my landlady too much rent. I have to work and earn a bit of money today. I can’t keep taking advantage of misses Tyrell. At her age, she needs the money for all sorts of important things. Sometimes she can’t hear me talking to her. I think it’s her hearing aid. It’s probably broken or something. She definitely needs a new one, but she can’t buy one if I don’t pay my rent to her. It’s not nice to take advantage of a kind old lady.” He stood back up, standing more steadily on his feet this time. “Right.” He swallowed nervously and chewed on his underlip. “Which house shall I try next?”

“Shall I pick one out this time?” Sansa asked, thinking that she might be able to help.

Petyr nodded. He still completely trusted her. “Sure. Go ahead. Pick one.”

Sansa turned and studied the row of terrace houses. This time, she really wanted to make sure that she will find the right person for him to deal with, but it was hard, and she was hesitating. If she was by herself she wouldn’t have wavered, she would have stepped right up and rung the bell at any door, knowing that no matter who showed up, she could handle it. She knew she could take care of herself. But with Petyr, she either had to find someone with all the unrealistic goodwill and patience of a saint, or it was going to be a disaster. There was just something incredibly wrong with the way he talked to people, that made him so very vulnerable to abuse. It wasn’t only the way that he could be very tiring, or very persistent once he had stubbornly put his mind onto something, like paying Olenna her rent. There was something else…

She looked at Petyr for a moment, and finally got an idea what his real problem was.

“You can’t lie, can you?” As soon as the words passed her lips, a long lost memory came back to her, and played out in front of her mind’s eye as clearly as on the day it happened.

 

3.  
“You really can’t lie, can you?” Petyr mocked. They were sitting opposite eachother in yet another tavern, one of the many they had visited on their way to Winterfell.

There came a faint flush on the otherwise snowwhite skin of her neck that signified she was getting annoyed. He probably had noticed it even before she knew she was getting irritated with him. All these months together as his sole companion, and Petyr had learned to read Sansa like a book. He smirked. He didn’t care that she was getting upset. She had to learn this valuable lesson. She needed to if he wanted her to survive.

“Well, you did tell me once that I was an awful liar.” Sansa replied. The flush had spread over her ears. “So what did you expect?”

“I had expected that, after so many months of asking me questions and watching me attentively, you have learned a few things by now.” He replied, letting his disappointment sound through his voice. He didn’t have to fake it. He really was disappointed, and he was worried. “Why did you tell that tavern boy that you are my niece?”

“Because he asked who I was, and because you told me to.” She replied defensively. “He probably thought that he recognized me from somewhere. We went through this exact same inn when I was traveling with my father to King’s Landing.”

“Wrong. I told you to confirm to any other lords that we encounter that you are my niece when I introduce you to them. I didn’t ask you to tell that to every flee-infested lowlife we meet on the way.”

“What’s the difference?” She asked, now visibly annoyed. It had only been a few days since Petyr had revealed to her that he was bringing her home to Winterfell and that she was to be married to the Bolton boy. She had reacted in the way that he had expected, and although he had managed to calm her down and talk her into taking the right decision, he noticed that she had become quite rebellious, and was eager to pick a fight. _Good,_ he thought. She really needs to become much braver. _However sharp an observant mind, it is still a useless tool if you have not the heart to use it._

“The Lords will expect to see my niece after I introduce you to them. A good lie takes a certain time to ease through. You have to drop hints, a little trail of facts and fabrications that they can puzzle together in their own minds. Only then they will believe you, because they came to the conclusion themselves. That tavern boy had very different expectations. He thought he saw Sansa Stark of Winterfell in you. When he came up to you and asked if you have been here before –“

“I answered that I haven’t.” Sansa replied. “Isn’t that enough?”

“Does it look like he truly believes you?” He gestured with his eyes that she should look over her shoulder, but only carefully. When she did, she noticed that boy had stopped receiving guests and had gone over to the counter to the landlord, and was now whispering in his ear. Both shot brief, hasty glances in their direction.

“You told him that you have not been here before, but you became so nervous that you immediately walked pass him to go sit down at this table. The tavern was full, but you knew that there was still seating at the back, kept out of sight, and you showed him that you could find it without asking.” He observed her closely, making sure that she was paying attention and that she was going to remember this. “You said you were my niece, but when he asked where you came from you had to pause and think before answering.”

“But I said the right thing, didn’t I? I said I came from the Fingers. Isn’t that where your measly little house is seated?”

His smirk turned into a faint grin, his usual reflex to any insult. “What you told the boy is absolutely irrelevant.” He replied, and beckoned one of the commanding knights from his entourage to his side before whispering something into his ear. The knight gazed sternly at the tavern boy and the landlord. Before Sansa realized what was happening, the two of them were being roughly escorted from the establishment by Petyr’s men.

“Where are they going? What are you going to do to them?” she asked. Knowing him well by now, she immediately feared the worst.

“You know my rules. If you were any better at lying, this encounter wouldn’t have ended so poorly, it would not have cost them their lives.” He leaned back in his chair and folded in his hands on his lap. “Remember that Sansa. Every time you fail in telling a convincing lie, someone’s life will be in danger. Better that it someone elses, then it is yours.”

He saw that her anger at him was starting to wane, only to be replaced by silent resentment and guilt. He made a mental note that he also needed to address the latter. He had to shake that remorse out of her, this misguided sense of empathy that could lead to all kinds of unwise decisions. Pure sentiment was not a good councilor to anyone.

“What was it that I was supposed to say?” She finally asked him, after his men had returned. Her eyes fluttered ever so slightly when she noticed that one of them was still busy cleaning the fresh blood from his sword. “What would have been right answer?”

“You should have said noting to the boy.” He replied. “You are supposed to be a high born, even if we are considered but a minor house, in the eyes of these peasants, we are as far removed from them as hawks from field mice. You should have ignored or dismissed him. That is what he had expected, if you were indeed my niece, and you had nothing to hide. Your silence would have saved the landlord’s and the boy’s lives. Instead, you decided to speak out to justify the lie, making yourself look even more suspicious. I had no other option but to correct your faults.”

By the way she stared at him, he knew that she was accusing him for taking away her innocence and making her complicit in his cold murderous ways. He knew that she was resenting him for pouring all that he knew of this cynical world into her, like it was a poison that he was forcing her to swallow. “Why are you teaching me all this?” She asked, her blue eyes burning into his soul.

 _Because I don’t want you to end up like your mother,_ he thought. Slaughtered by her enemies, her body mutilated and dumped in the river and left to rot for so long that when his men finally arrived in the Riverlands, they had been unable to retrieve her remains for him. He could not even bury the woman he loved. Cat had died a horrible death and had no grave to mark her final resting place, just because she had made the terrible mistake of marrying Eddard Stark. A Northern ox with more honor and beastly strength than common sense and wit. A man whose idiotic judgments and refusal to play the game had cost her her life. He had failed to protect her. For that reason alone, her “beloved” Ned had deserved his head to be cut off a million times.

Petyr would not allow Cat’s daughter to go the same way. He would protect Sansa from all the harm that this cruel and unpredictable world could do to a young innocent soul. He would teach her all he knew, how the game was played, and how to protect herself.

“Because you need to know.” He told her. He wanted her to know that he cared for her, but not so much to expose his real feelings for her. Showing her exactly how much he cared would give her an advantage. Even in his most delusional state of mind, when his heart ached when the light caught Sansa’s face in a certain angle, and Cat’s features started to blend with hers, he would not allow that to happen. Once, when he was a boy, he had made that misjudgment. He had bled for it. As an older man, he really should be so much wiser.

 

4.  
“You can’t lie…” Sansa repeated in a soft, uncertain voice.

The sudden revelations brought on by her vision had left her in a complete bewildered state. She had the feeling that her mind had, for a brief moment, not belonged to her, like it had been kidnapped to experience a life that was not her own, and had only been returned to her consciousness just second ago.

“You want me to lie?” Petyr asked hesitantly.

 _Yes I want you to lie. You used to lie all the time, and you were brilliant at it. You have tried to teach me everything you knew. You wanted to, because you wanted me to be safe. You wanted to protect me._ _Why can't you be the way you're supposed to be?_ She wanted to tell him all this, but then she realized her beloved mentor could not be Petyr, that _that_ man was older and much wiser and had to be a completely different person, someone who had probably never existed, except in her overactive imagination. It wasn’t the real-world Petyr, the one who was now standing in front of her, with his plastic bucket ready in his hand to wash cars for 2 pound fifty an hour. The real Petyr couldn’t even take care of himself, let alone teach her anything about the dangers of this world.

“That’s no good, is it? Lying is not what you are supposed to do.” Petyr added, wearing a concerned expression on his face. “It’s not decent.”

“I am not saying…I don’t mean you should lie all the time.” Sansa was struggling to keep her head together. She had these horribly frightening episodes before at uni, but never this severe, and never had it felt so real, so much so that she had trouble distinguishing reality from whatever her mind had created in its moment of madness. “But you could lie once in a while, when it is needed, to make life easier for yourself.”

Petyr shook his head, becoming even more doubtful. “I don’t think that is such a good idea. You’re right you know, I am rubbish at it. I am absolutely horrible at lying. I just can’t do it. I can’t say anything that isn’t true without getting really nervous, and people always find out about it and get very upset. Besides, I don’t think it is right. It’s not the proper thing to do really. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Not all lies are bad.” She tried to explain. “Sometimes you need to lie because you care for someone, and you don’t want to hurt his feelings, or you lie because you want to protect someone from getting hurt. If you do it  because of those reasons, you really have done nothing wrong.”

“That’s not what misses Tyrell told me. She said that I was a horrible liar and that I should never try because no good will ever come from it.”

“Listen to me Petyr, the world is not black and white, so you shouldn’t look at it in that way. There are good and bad reasons to tell lies. You just have to be able to tell them apart.” She was suddenly overwhelmed by an urgent need to protect him. She had seen too many horrible things happen to him today. “ I could teach you how to lie.” She opted. “It’s easy enough if you know how.”

“You want me to learn how to lie?” Petyr furrowed his brows and scratched his thin beard. “I don’t know Sansa. I am just a bloke who washes cars for a living. I am not a politician or a super villain or anything, I mean, do you really think this is necessary?”

“Trust me, it is very necessary.” Sansa stressed. “Please, let me at least show you how to talk to the folks who come to answer the doors. It will make life so much easier for you.” _And I am sick and tired of seeing people taking advantage of you. I really hate to see you hurt again. It shouldn’t be like that. It should never be like that. It feels so incredibly wrong._

“Erm, okay.” He finally admitted, taken aback by her sudden forcefulness. “If you really think so. I still don’t think I am cut out for it though.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Anyone can learn to lie.” She replied, her voice softening, and feeling a great sense of relief that he was finally listening to her. “It’s not rocket science. You just have to learn how to get comfortable with it, that’s all. You need some practice. So let’s start with a bit of role playing and see how good _– or bad –_ you are with improvising. So, I will be the customer, and you ring the doorbell like you always do.”

TBC

 


	6. Chapter 6

1.

He had a nervous grimace on his face when the door finally opened. A woman somewhere in her mid 40s, not unfriendly looking, came to greet him. _So far so good really._ Although, she did look somewhat surprised to find a grown 30 year old man dressed like a young college student standing in her porch with a red plastic bucket in his hands. 

“Yes?” She asked, somewhat hesitantly, but still supporting a friendly smile. “Can I help you?”

“Hi there.” His greeting was more like a relieved sigh, for he had half-expected to get a six foot gorilla man at the door. With all the bad luck he had today, he would be glad if he wasn’t going back to King’s Landing lying down on a stretcher.

“I am Petyr and ehm…I rang your doorbell because I would like to offer my professional car washing services to you?” He pointed out the grey Audi parked in front of the house. “I was just walking by when I noticed your car. It’s really dirty. It’s covered in layers of dust and bird poop, so I figured it could definitely do with a good clean. For just 2 pound 50 an hour, I will clean it for you. I promise to do a good job.”

“Oh I see. That is very kind of you to offer, but I am afraid that is not my car.”

“Not your car?” Petyr panicked a little when he recalled what happened the last few times that his potential clients had informed him this. “A-are you sure? I mean the grey one parked under the tree just in front of your house.”

“That’s the neighbor’s car.” She concluded after a quick glance. “We don’t own one. My husband and I think it is practically useless to have a car when you’re living in the middle of London. But you should go ask number 11. Maybe you will have more luck there.”

She shot him another smile and was about to shut the door.

“What about the windows?” Petyr tried again, just like Sansa had told him he should. “They are pretty dirty as well. Let me wash them for you. It will get the light back into your living room, make it nice and bright again.”

“No thanks, really. The cleaners just have done them last Monday. I don’t think they need another go for at least 2 weeks.” She told him, already half disappearing behind the door.

“Wait! Please don’t shut the door.” Petyr tried, remembering how Sansa had told him that he should keep improvising. “There must be something I can do for you. Ehm…” He glanced back over his shoulder at the hedges behind which his teacher was hiding, but he could not catch sight of her. “Ehm…” His heart was fluttering inside his chest like a frightened song bird caught in a net. “Could-could I perhaps w-wash your h-hair?” He rambled.

Two slow blinks came in response. “I beg you pardon?” She asked, her polite smile turning to stone.

He felt his face flush red and he lowered his eyes. “W-would you perhaps let me wash your hair? I-I am very good at it.” He lied. Suddenly, he felt sweltering hot inside his tweed jacket. He shot brief guilty glances at his potential client. Looking her straight into her eyes was now nearly impossible. “I used to w-work in a b-barbershop…” He lied again, his eyes fluttering like crazy. The heat rushed up to his ears and his cheeks were like tiny radiators. Every untrue word he said was choking the air from his lungs. How anyone managed to lie with dying of asphyxiation was a complete mystery to him.

“Ehm…p-perhaps your hair does not need that much washing.” He mumbled, reacting to the strange look the woman was now giving him. Sansa did tell him to be observant and quickly adapt to other people’s responses. “It’s probably too short, isn’t it? M-maybe I can wash your d-dog? Or if you don’t have one, maybe your c-cat?” He was now nearly hyperventilating, and his heart was thumping at the pace of a champion racehorse. Give him another minute or so and he would have passed out, but luckily, his teacher had seen enough and rushed to his aid.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Sansa told the woman, who by now looked completely flabbergasted. “Can I speak to him for a moment?”

“By all means.”

Petyr had never felt so relieved to see her again. “I-I am sorry Sansa.” He muttered and wheezed, feeling very bad that he had let her down. “I really really tried, but I just…I c-couldn’t –“

“Are you all right?” Sansa asked him worriedly.

Petyr nodded. “Yes…I am feeling better now, I have w-wasted you time, didn’t I?“

“It’s all right.” She told him with a small smile. “It’s fine. Just…I don’t know, concentrate on your breathing for while.”

He nodded again, his manners only slightly less demure.

Sansa looked over her shoulder to the other side of the street, which was at the moment completely deserted. “Petyr, maybe you should let me talk to this nice lady. If you could help me with something else? Could you go to the other side of street and check how many cars need washing?”

“You mean see which ones are dirty? Sure. Ehm…do you want me to ring the doorbells as well?” He added, with a look that signified that he was completely horrified by that prospect.

“No, don’t do that!” She added hastily. “Just…I don’t know, count them. Then come back.”

“Okay! Sure I can do that. I will do that! Be back in a sec!” He ran over to the other side of the road.

“What the heck is wrong with him?” The woman asked, after she was sure that Petyr was far away enough to not hear her.

“I am very sorry.” Sansa said, looking at her most apologetically. “Please don’t call the police or anything. He doesn’t mean to scare or offend you, and if he did, he didn’t do it on purpose. He really can’t help it.”

“Who are you? Are you his social worker?”

Sansa’s reflexes, trained immaculately by her former mentor, kicked in like a fully automated protocol.

 _When you want to deceive someone, always use their assumptions to cloak you lies._ Petyr once told her, granting her yet another of his infuriating smirks. _Remember Sansa, everyone trusts their own judgment better than anyone else’s, so make good use of your opponent’s prejudices to make them believe you. It’s the first and most important trick in the book._

Sansa shut her eyes for a moment to clear his voice from his mind. _No…this was not his voice. This was not the same man. This was not the hapless Petyr who she was so desperately trying to help._ Once again, her dreams were dangerously bleeding through into reality.

“Yes.” She responded with a disarming smile. “I am his social worker. I try to look after him, and am failing miserably….My name is Sansa, by the way.”

“Rachel, good to meet you Sansa. What was his name again?”

“Petyr. His name is Petyr. With a y.” She added, struggling to keep her mind together.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. It must be very difficult to take care of someone like him. So, what were you trying to do? Why did you let him ring people’s doorbells, is it some sort of social integration program?”

Sansa nodded in reply, happy to use whatever the woman came up with to further elaborate on her own lies. “We are trying to get Petyr more prepared for daily life. He is living with us in the institute at the moment, but it’s really not that ideal. It would be so much better for him if he could learn to live on his own.”

“Well, it looks like he still has a long way to go.”

“It’s not easy for him. He has lived with special care for all of his life. He never had any real experiences with the outside world before.”

“I can imagine that it’s really hard. I am sorry to say this, but the way he approaches people.” She shook her head. “It’s very easy to be interpret his intentions wrong.”

“Oh you have no idea how much trouble that can cause.” Sansa laughed with a touch of bitter sarcasm in her voice. “People can be so awful to him. Did you see the bruises on his face? That guy living two houses away across the street did that to him. He was beaten up only because he offered to wash his car.”

“Oh that sounds really awful. Poor man.”

“The sad thing is, Petyr really doesn’t want to hurt anyone. He really has the best of intentions. He is the sweetest and kindest guy you will ever meet. He tries his best to adapt, but it is really difficult.”

“Did you have any luck? I mean, except for what happened to him with our nasty neighbor. Did he earn any money today?”

It was not difficult for Sansa to pick up the guilt in her target’s voice. “Not really.” She replied with a defeated smile and a simple shrug. “People just take one look at him or hear him speak and they want nothing to do with him. I guess it’s only understandable…” She added as a bitter afterthought.

Remorse, shame, and empathy, her mentor used to warn her not to let these emotions cloud her judgments, but used as a weapon to target others, they can be most useful.

“Is there perhaps…something I can do?” The woman asked hesitantly. “You know, just to help him out a little?”

 _And there it is._ Sansa thought. _Hook, line, and sinker._

After all, she had learned from the best.

If only he knew. He would have been so proud.

 

2.

“Geez! I still can’t believe that nice lady just gave us 50 pounds! 50 pounds Sansa! For just two hours of work!”

They were still in Kensington, sitting at a table inside one of those posh little hipster cafes where a single latte costs Petyr’s weekly rent for his bunk. Too expensive for a homeless girl and a man who earned his living by washing cars, but Petyr had insisted. He wanted to treat her. When she walked by the window display and had thoughtlessly commented that she used to love lemon cheese cake when she was little (but that was well before her vegan phase at uni), there was nothing she could really do to convince him to not drag her inside that shop.

So here they were. Sitting opposite each other in a quiet corner, with her companion’s loudness receiving many patronizing glances from the café manager. Sansa just ignored the haughty bastard, figuring that Petyr had every right to be here just like anybody else.

“You earned it.” She replied with a smile. She meant it. Petyr did all the windows in the house both on the outside and inside. It was already exhausting for her to watch him put in all that effort, let alone really cleaning it all. “Rachel was really happy with the result. She even told us that we could come back next month if we want.”

_We? Is it we now? Wasn’t she supposed to get out of King’s Landing and out of Petyr’s life? Of course she wasn’t going to stay with him. No way was she going to stay…_

“Yes, but 50 pounds! I normally have to work like 20 hours to earn that much. She should have paid me far less.” His smile widened, his kind grey-blue eyes smiling along. “This is just amazing! _You_ are amazing! I am so happy you came along today. You really helped me a great deal.”

“You shouldn’t thank me. You did all that work. I did nothing really.”

_God, how difficult it was to not to be taken by that infectious smile. She couldn’t help herself. He was so happy and hopeful. How could she not want him to be like that every day for the rest of his life? How could she not admit to herself that she cared for him?  
_

“Oh but you did help me. You talked to her. Before you did that she didn’t want to have anything to do with me. You really turned her around you know. She was so kind to me afterwards, it was like she had completely changed her mind. What did you do Sansa? Did you do what you told me to do? What did you tell her? Did you lie?”

“I sort of told her a few things that weren’t true.” Sansa shrugged. “It’s okay though. It wasn’t too bad.”

“I wish I did better. I wish I lied better for you, but I got really nervous, you know. To be honest, I still am not completely sure about this lying thing. But you were marvelous. You were really good.”

The waiter, after having avoided them like the plague for a good 15 minutes, finally turned up at their table. “Ehem, can I get anything for you both?”

“Oh! You wanted the lemon cake didn’t you?” Petyr asked her enthusiastically, and pointed out the item on the menu.

“It’s fine. I don’t really need anything.” Sansa replied, noticing how ridiculously pricey even a single slice was.

“You don’t like lemon cakes? I thought you said it was your favorite? You want something else?”

“I adore lemon cheese cake, really, it’s just –“

“Oh but then you must have that. I still need to thank you for helping me today. If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t have made a single penny, and that Godzilla bloke would have, you know, definitely killed me.” He turned to the waiter. “One slice of lemon cake please!” He ordered cheerfully, sticking one finger up in the air. “Ehm, just one question, does it contain anything that would be bad if you had a vegan allergy?”

“I beg you pardon. A what, sir?” The waiter replied, lifting one eyebrow at him.

“A vegan allergy! You know, my friend here can’t have any eggs or animal proteins or anything like that or she will get really sick.”

The waiter must have thought that Petyr was pulling his leg, but then he noticed the deadly serious look he was giving him.

“So your question is, is there any animal derived proteins in our lemon cheese cake.” He rolled his eyes dismissively. “Eh, not much sir, only the eggs, and the milk, and the butter, and the cheese, I suppose.”

“Eggs, milk, butter and cheese.” Petyr counted them out on his fingers. “Is that okay with you Sansa? It’s no good, right?” He concluded, remembering the last time they had this conversation. “It’s no good.” He told the waiter. “Ehm, could you please go the kitchen and ask them to make one without putting all that stuff in it?”

“It’s fine Petyr.” Sansa reassured him, just before the waiter was going to give his - no doubt - nasty reply. “I can eat it as it is. We will take a slice.”

“Yes.” The waiter sighed, giving Petyr a patronizing look. “Excellent choice, miss. And for you sir? What would it be?”

“Just wait sec." Petyr took the money out of his pockets together with some small change and started counting. “I don’t think we can order much else really.” He told Sansa. “I need 20 pounds to pay back the due rent to misses Tyrell. And I need another 20 to rent the two bunks for us for the coming week. The cake is 7 pound fifty. We still need to keep some coins to pay for the bus fare back to King’s Landing. So…ehm…I dunno….What can you get me for 50 cents?” He asked the waiter.

“Oh I don’t know sir. A single pecan nut and a glass of tap water?” The waiter replied, his voice dripping of sarcasm.

“Okay, I'll have that please!” Petyr said cheerfully. Happy that there was still something that he could order.

“You really shouldn’t have ordered the cake for me.” Sansa told him, after the haughty waiter had disappeared back into the kitchen. “You don’t need to pay everything for me.”

“But I want to, and I should. Misses Tyrell told me this morning that you were homeless. That that was the reason why you left, because you didn’t want to bother me. That was silly of you really, because you don’t bother me at all. I absolutely love having you around. You’re more than welcome to stay longer. Now that I have finally made enough money to pay the rent for us both, you can have the top bunk. You don’t have to sleep outside anymore.”

He noticed the look she was giving him. “You don’t need to worry.” He reassured her. “I know that I am not smart or rich or anything…but I promise I will take care of you. Someone has to, just like misses Tyrell is taking such good care of me.” 

“Yes, of course you will.” She muttered, choking on her words. No matter where she was, here in London or in King’s Landing or in that fake dream world in which she so often lost herself, he was always there to look after her, even if she didn’t want him to, even it was unwise for him to do so. It was like a secret unwritten universal law, whenever Sansa meets Petyr, Petyr must take care of Sansa. She would have laughed of how silly that was if she didn’t already know that it would always turn into such a bloody tragedy.

But for once, Petyr had not noticed her distress. “Anyway, who taught you to lie so well? I wish I could talk like that. I wish I could talk like you did to that lady. You were truly amazing. Did your parents teach you that? They must be very good at it. Are they like, professional liars? Are they lawyers or something?”

“No.” Sansa replied. A giddy laugh escaped her throat, light as a bird. It was all getting too absurd. “My dad owns a goat farm up in the North. He sells cashmere wool to local small businesses, to make sweaters and stuff like that.” Her gaze drifted in the distance as she thought of home. “He didn’t teach me to lie. In fact, he is the most kind and honest man you will ever meet in your life. He is always fair to everyone. His workers, his clients, and to us, his family…He wouldn’t lie to anyone. And my mother, she is even worse. She hates people who are insincere. She hates liars, and she is clever. My father is always the last one to notice if anyone one of us lies, but she always finds out.”

“But, if your parents didn’t teach you. Who did?”

 _You did._ She wanted to tell him. _You taught me. After your immaculately crafted lies had cost me my parents and my brothers, and I had no-one left in the world to turn to. You saved me. You protected and sheltered me. You tutored me. For all that and more, I will always be grateful to you. Just as much as I will always hate and despise you for what you have done to my family._

But instead of giving in to the mad thoughts in her head, she said;

“I don’t know where I have it from. Maybe I am the black sheep of the family.”

The smile faded from Petyr’s face. “Is that why they abandoned you?” He asked, his voice soft with pity and concern. “Because they thought you were no good?”

“What? No, my parents didn’t abandon me.” Sansa snapped back. “They love me. They would never do that to me.”

_Unless they happened to be murdered by the schemes of a vindictive, horrible little monster with a borderline psychopathic obsession with my mother._

“But…then I don’t understand, why were you sleeping out in the streets? Why are you homeless if you still have a family, and people who worry and care about you?”

“I had problems, okay? I ran away.” She remembered her last weeks at uni, when her dreams started to blend into her real life like an infected wound that kept oozing illness without ever healing. She remembered how terrified she was of losing her mind. She should have stayed where she was. She was certainly not getting any saner here in the capital. Not in his presence. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She muttered, looking away. Why was she still sitting here? Why didn’t she run out of this shop, and just leave him here. She already got out of King’s Landing. She could just go and disappear in the crowd. He could try all he liked but he would not be able to find her again. Not in busy London, with its millions and millions of strange faces. She came here to forget about that other world, those horrible nightmares that seemed so real that were more like memories than visions to her. Instead, she was constantly reminded of what she dreaded, because she had met Petyr and was staring one of her ghosts right in the eyes.

“I am sorry.” He replied shyly. “I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I promise I won’t mention it again…” He paused when the waiter came to bring them their order. One slice of lemon cheese cake with, indeed, a glass of tap water and a white plate with a single pecan nut. “At least you have a family.” He continued, after the waiter had left. “At least you know they care about you. I never knew my parents. They left me at the doorstep of an orphanage when I was a baby.”

“You’re an orphan?”

“I was. I was very lucky though.” He replied with a small smile. “I was adopted when I was six so I don’t remember much of that place. What I do remember is my foster family. The Tullys. They were fantastic. They were my true family. The only one I ever had.”

Sansa’s heart slipped a beat. “Did-did you say, the Tullys?”

“Yeah.”

“ That’s the surname of my mother.”

“Is it?” Petyr replied, raising his eyebrows in amazement. “Wow, that’s a coincidence. Although I do know that there are a lot of Tullys. Even here in London. I used to check the phonebook all the time and there were at least 500 different families with that same surname living here.”

“Did they treat you well? Your foster family?” Sansa asked. The question had already passed her lips before she could regret it. She knew how they had treated him. She had heard parts of that story from him, and most of it from a very intoxicated uncle Edmure during his long stay at Winterfell. And yet…she kept reminding herself, this was not her mentor. This was Petyr from the King’s Landing estate in London. _Stop confusing your fantasy world with reality._

“Oh yes, they certainly did.” Petyr replied enthusiastically. “I was so incredibly lucky. I used to have no one and then all of a sudden I had a real mum and dad, and 2 sisters and an older brother. We were all living together in a large house in the suburbs, with a great garden. My parents were a bit strict, but they were good to me. They treated me like their own. I was sent to the best schools, and at home, I used to play all day with my siblings. They were all so very kind to me, particularly Cat. She is one of the kindest persons I have ever met in my entire life. She was my best friend. My soulmate. We did everything together. We walked to school together, and even though I was four years younger, I helped her with her homework. We played together in the garden and in the narrow stretch of woodland at the back. I used to climb up trees and bring down bird nests after the chicks had fledged to show it to her. She took me to her riding classes and taught me how to ride a horse. I used to be terrified of horses. I still am actually. But she loved them, and with her around, it was all right…”

Petyr paused when he finally noticed how quiet she had become. “Are you okay Sansa? You have hardly touched your cake?”

“I am fine.” She lied, but she was horrified. She felt like she was sinking deeper and deeper into the swamp of her own delusions.

“Cat.” She muttered. “That’s short for?”

“Catelyn.” He smiled, as if speaking her name could somehow summon her from his memories and fill this dreary presence with her shiny being. “Her name is Catelyn. Such a beautiful name, don’t you think? Like yours. Just like you, she was beautiful too. She also had long red hair, and when she smiled, it was like – like the sun came out from behind the clouds after you had a really shitty day, you know. Whenever she smiled and looked at me, I felt so very warm, so incredibly happy inside. All I wanted was to make her happy, so she would always smile like that and never be sad a single day in her life. I would do anything to see her smile.”

“Catelyn Tully.” Sansa rolled her mother’s name over her tongue, and it tasted like a bitter pill. It tasted like the heavy medication her doctor had prescribed to her to calm her nerves. This could not be possible. How old was Petyr? Somewhere in his early or mid thirties? Her mom just had her 50th birthday last month. It did not add up, her reality didn’t make any sense. Or did he just look much younger than he actually was? Maybe his Catelyn wasn’t her mother. Maybe he was talking about a completely different woman. She was almost compelled to ask if he had any pictures of his beloved foster sister with him to show it to her.

“If I could have stayed, and shared the rest of my life with her, I would have been so happy.” His usual loud voice softened to a whisper and the smile he had worn on his face had faded into nothing. “I would have wanted nothing else in the world. _She_ was my whole world.” A pause. “I loved her. I really did.”

 _I know._ Sansa thought. _You told me countless of times. Most of those times, I thought they were just lies. Forgive me, but you have told so many that it was almost impossible to separate them from the truth. But the last time you told me you loved her, that very last time, I did believe you. Just like when you told me, in that dark winter hall in the company of all those who wanted you dead, that you loved me. I knew, deep in my heart, that you were telling the truth._

And yet she had betrayed his love. She had ordered his execution and had watched how Arya did the dirty work for her. She watched him bleed out on those cobble stones, a broken little creature, wings torn and broken, its dreams of flying near the sun crushed under her feet like the fragile bones within its body.

_That is what happens when Sansa meets Petyr. The cautionary tale of the winter wolf and her little mocking bird. It’s not a pretty song, and it’s not going to end well._

“What happened?” Sansa asked, feeling her heart bleed out.

“It was my fault.” Petyr gazed away to evade her eyes. “I got myself in a fight. I can’t really remember much about it now. My foster brother Edmure told me what happened after I woke up in hospital. It was Cat’s boybriend Brandon. Edmure said that it was my own stupid fault, I was bugging Brandon so much and was making it so difficult for Cat that he had to beat me up to teach me a lesson. He just didn’t realize that I am not exactly built like normal kids who could take a good beating and still get up and walk away from it. He didn’t know that a kick in the head would put me in a coma for 2 months. When I finally woke up, I - I couldn’t talk anymore. Something went wrong inside my head. I couldn’t put the right words in the right order. But I still remembered my family. I remembered Cat. I was very happy when she finally came to see me. She wanted to help me get better. She wanted to visit more often too, but for some reason, my foster parents wouldn’t let her. I still don’t know why really…” He bowed his head, feeling so incredibly ashamed for being abandoned like that, even though it wasn’t his fault. “She wanted me to come home, you know. She really did, but my foster parents didn’t think it was such a good idea. I needed a lot of care you see. I don’t blame them. I don’t blame them for anything. I couldn’t even go to the bathroom on my own that first year, I couldn’t even hold up a spoon to feed myself. I completely understand why they wouldn’t want me back…” He paused, chewing his lower lip bloody and raw. “They didn’t really want to abandon me like that.” He muttered, his eyes becoming moist. “Not Cat. Certainly not Cat. It was my fault really, for being broken like that. Even long afterwards, the people of the care home in King’s Landing where my family had sent me told me that I couldn’t go back to my old school anymore, which was horrible, because I really tried, you know. I cried and begged the doctors to fix me, but it never went back the way it used to be...It took me three years to learn how to talk again, and still people think I am talking gibberish.” He admitted, finally bursting into tears.

It was so unsettling for her to see him cry. She had only seen it once before, and the memory of it cut her deep.

“You have to believe me.” He muttered, his voice broken and small. “I really tried. I had to. I thought that if I got better the Tullys would come back for me. But everything just stopped making sense inside my _stupid_ head.”

Before she knew what was happening to her, before she realized what she was doing, she took his hand into hers. “I am very very sorry.” She whispered.

_I am sorry for what has been done to you. In this world or in the other._

_I am sorry for what has happened between us. I am sorry that I, like my mother, choose to put family, duty, and honor first, and my heart second._

“Don’t be sorry.” Petyr replied, a little taken aback by her response. He wiped the wetness from the corners of his eyes, ashamed that she had seen him so vulnerably. He was supposed to take care of her. He should be the strong one here. “You have nothing to do with it. It is my own fault for being so incredibly rubbish at everything. No one wants to have anything to do with me. Not even my own family. Cat…she came to visit me one last time, right after they had explained to me that I was going to stay in the care home in King’s Landing.”

There was a heartbroken look on his face that crumpled up her heart like it was a thin heart shaped sheet of paper.

“She was crying. She told me that she wasn’t going to leave me here. She was going to come back for me, convince her parents to take me home. I believed her. I still do, you know. Cat has never lied to me. So…I waited. I waited for her in the youth care home till they told me that I was getting too old to live there anymore. At first, I really wanted to leave King’s Landing, to get out, and find her. So I took the bus and went back to the place where we used to all live together. The house was still there, but they weren’t there anymore. When I asked the people in the care home, they told me that my foster parents had not left a new address behind, but they thought that they had remained in London. So I started riding the bus every day all around town. I slept on benches, in people’s porches, and in bus stations. I begged people for money so I got enough to pay for the bus fare. I went through all the neighborhoods, always looking out of the window, scanning the streets, hoping to find her. I don’t want to bother her or anything. I know I am not smart, but I am not completely stupid. I know she probably has her own life by now. I just…want to see her again. That’s all. Make sure that she is happy…I never did though. I never saw her again.” He looked up at her shyly, forcing back the painful memories, and forcing a smile that did not reach his eyes. “But then I remembered that she told me that she was going to come back for me. She promised, didn’t she?" He commented, full of hope. "I didn’t have to look for her, I just need to stay put really. I have to stay in King’s Landing, be patient, and one day, she will come back and take me with her. So …I finally found a place to stay at misses Tyrells, and started earning a bit of money doing odd jobs. I didn’t want to continue begging for a living. It didn’t seem right. Cat wouldn’t have liked it. She was always so proud. If she saw me like that I would really embarrass her. I told the people in the care home where she could find me, but I still get on a bus almost every day, just in case, you know. That’s how I met you yesterday. I was out looking for her.”

Petyr finally stopped talking when he noticed her tears. They were gliding down her cheek and dripping from her chin onto the yellow icing of her pricey lemon cake.

“Sansa? Oh my God, why are you crying?” He came over to her, his kind face full of concern. “Are-are you hurt? Is the lemon cake wrong? Is it your vegan allergy? You didn’t even touch it yet. You want me to get you to a doctor?”

“No…” She brushed his hand aside. “No, please, don’t…” _I am sorry that I once promised you all that you ever really wanted to lure you to Winterfell...I am sorry for stamping out your dreams, for betraying you, and making that cold grey northern land that you hated so much your final resting place._

_I am sorry that I could not forgive you for all that you have done to me and my family._

She wished he wasn’t so kind to her. She felt so incredibly guilty. She knew she had not done anything to hurt him, not in the real world. She knew that it wasn’t her fault, but she was so confused and her heart bled for him all the same. “It’s not that. Please sit back down.”  

“What’s wrong then? What’s the matter? Please tell me, I hate to see you like this. Is there something I can do to help?”

She shook her head. She really didn’t want to tell him why she was so upset. She couldn’t even make sense of it all herself, let alone Petyr. So she wiped the tears from her face and breathed in deeply, forcing herself to be brave. “Nothing. It’s really nothing. I am feeling much better. See.” She faked a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Please stop worrying about me.”

“You are sure you’re fine?”

“Yes I am.” Still wearing the fake smile on her lips, she shoved the plate in his direction. “Just help me with finishing this cake, okay? I can’t get it all down on my own.”

 

Half an hour later, and they were standing outside the shop again.

“It’s 6:30 already.” Petyr told her after he took a glance at his wristwatch. “6:30! We need to head back to King’s Landing. Misses Tyrell will otherwise get very worried.”

There was a bus stop nearby. Somehow, it didn’t surprise her that much anymore that as soon as Petyr mentioned that they should go back, a bus immediately pulled over out of the heavy traffic and stopped right in front of them both. He stepped on board and had already paid the fare for two tickets when he noticed that she was still standing outside on the pavement.

“Come on Sansa. I don’t think it’s going to wait much longer for us to get on.”

“Are you sure that this one is going back to King’s Landing? I mean it’s the first bus that turns up, just by chance.” She asked, more to stall everything than that she really needed to know. She already knew the answer.

“Yeah, I am completely sure.” Petyr replied, confirming her suspicion and fears. “Every bus I take in London eventually ends up home. I never have to check.”

She didn’t want to get on that bus. Every instinct in her body told her to stay away. It was difficult enough this morning to get out of King’s Landing. It was Petyr who got her out, and now he wanted to go back to that horrible place. But she couldn’t just leave him now, could she? Not after what she remembered of him, and what he had told her, and what they had been through together, real or imaginary.

She knew it was not a smart move. She knew it was wrong to let herself to be led by her heart. Her mentor would have dreaded this unwise decision, and would have lectured her on the little value of such vulnerabilities, like pity, and guilt, and remorse. And love, he would have told her that there was no such thing as love. That it was an illusion, something that kept you away from what really mattered, what you truly wanted, but she doubted that he ever knew what he truly wanted for himself. Or maybe he once did and forgot.

She didn’t know what she wanted, except to make sure that Petyr was never getting hurt again.

So she bravely got on the bus with him, and let herself be taken back unknowingly to that special place in hell that he had long learned to call home.

 

TBC

 


	7. Chapter 7

**NOTE:** Suggested music for this chapter part 1 and 2 -till the cat bit basically ;)"

[ Chaos is a ladder/Petyr's theme ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VeNoUcTlyFw)

I have heard many versions of the chaos is a ladder soundtrack, but his one is very special, it only uses the first few notes as a start and then transforms into something else entirely. It's far more complex than the sinister theme that is so often used in the series. If you enjoy it as much as I do please give the performing artist a like!

 

1.

It wasn’t like he never dreamt. He did dream. Like Sansa, Petyr’s mind did bring up the past, like it was dredging up mud from the bottom of an ancient well. The only difference was, unlike her, he wasn’t much aware of what it all meant. He didn’t have the presence of mind to realize that these weren’t just strange sequences of events that were created by his imagination just at random. He felt no fear, or anger, or love, or regret when he dreamt about his previous life. To him, these memories were not part of his past. They also did not linger. In the morning, the very recollection of them simply evaporated like beads of delicate morning dew on blades of grass with the first rays of the sun that shone on his face. None of it had any real meaning. None of it ever affected him.

Except for two of those memories.

“She really is lovely.” The Bolton boy told him. Petyr followed his gaze down from the watchtower where they were standing side by side, to the light footed maiden who was making her way across the courtyard. Her stride was hasty, but was also full of confidence and grace, as was to be expected from the true lady of Winterfell. “I hope I can make her happy.” Ramsay added.

Petyr felt Ramsay’s gaze resting on him, but didn’t turn to face the boy immediately. His eyes were still busy tracking Sansa’s every movement.

“I hope so too.” He finally replied. “I have become quite fond of lady Sansa during our travels together.”

It still worried him that he didn’t know much about Roose Bolton's bastard son. He hoped that he would be able to gather more information on him during his prolonged stay at Winterfell in the coming weeks. _A well-informed man is a well-prepared man._ In case of Sansa, he wanted to be completely sure.

“She suffered enough.” He meant it. He recalled the way Geoffrey had treated her, beating her and shaming her in front of the entire court in the great hall while forcing her to beg for her life down on her knees. Back then, he had not come to her aid, leaving it to the dwarf to save her honor. But then, he once had not considered her more than a potential piece in his long game, and the value of her did not outweigh his own interests enough to make him want to bring his own plans at risk. But now…he wasn’t sure how he would react if this would happen to her again.

_I would probably do something very unwise and unnecessarily dangerous._

He forced this highly inconvenient truth back into the deepest and darkest corners of his mind.

“I will never hurt her. You have my word.”

Petyr turned to face Ramsay Bolton. The boy’s expression was, of course, one of complete sincerity.

“I’ve heard very little about you, which makes you quite a rare thing, as lords go.” Petyr replied, knowing that only a fool would trust a man on his appearance alone. The Bolton boy’s words of comfort did also little to ease his troubled mind. It’s not what a man wants to show to you that is so interesting. It’s the part that remains hidden underneath, the rotten foundations of each temple that houses a man’s soul, that is worth finding out more about…if you knew the worst a man could be, you knew everything worth knowing about him…but he knew dangerously little of the young man that was about to marry his most priced asset.    

_Not only that…She is not just a valuable asset to you anymore, is she? She is much more than that. What in the name of the seven hells are you doing? If you were still the 15 th year old boy you once were, would you do this? Would you sell her to this mystery offspring of Roose Bolton, a man whose idea of a good evening of entertainment is public torture and mutilation? A man who butchered her family, just to crawl his greasy way up the ladder a notch to become warden of the north? Would you ever do that to Cat? _

_Would you have the heart to do that to someone you loved?_

He wanted this internal conversation to cease. It frightened him that he was becoming doubtful of his own actions. Since he became Littlefinger, he always knew what he needed to do, because he always knew what he wanted. Life had become so much less complicated since he had learned to focus all of his efforts on obtaining just one thing, that one perfect picture that he worked so hard for to bring into reality. He knew Sansa didn’t fit in that picture. He knew that she was only supposed to be a tool to his aim, but she had worked her way into his heart and conscience all the same. 

 _Sansa is not like Cat._ He told himself. It was only half a lie, really. Once again, he found himself distracted by her. His unhealthy obsession with her well-being was dangerously clouding his judgment. He should focus on other, far more pressing and important matters, like…

“A message for you.” Roose Bolton told him, his dead eyes flashing with suspicion, just after they had taken leave from his bastard son. “From Cercei Lannister. A rider from the Eyrie arrived here just before dawn. Apparently she still thinks that you’re in the Vale.”

It came indeed from Cercei. Even though he initially had doubts that it could be a trick, a falsified document from Roose Bolton to test his loyalty to their new alliance. After all, the royal seal was broken, and he could have done anything to the original document. An extensive comparison of the queen’s handwriting by his scribe, and a checkup with the rider from the Eyrie and a few of his little birds he had placed tactfully in the Bolton’s household since their arrival did however, confirm Bolton’s story and the authenticity of the queen’s message.

Her message was not a good one.

_Lord Bealish. You are summoned back to the capital at once._

That was all. No more explanations. No more subtle niceties. But then again, Cercei was never one who knew the true value of that sort of small pleasantries. Although he needed to see her too to pour his own brand of poison into her ears, the order came far too soon. He still needed more time. His little birds were still working hard to gather more information on Ramsay Bolton to assure him that the boy would not give any trouble to Sansa, and by doing so, compromise his plans.

But first and foremost, he wanted to know that he was leaving her in safe hands.

He wanted to be sure that she was safe.

_There you go again, confusing yourself with these feelings for her, this girl who could have easily been your daughter in age. You were supposed to play her kind and caring uncle, not her pining lover. Why are you still wasting your time on her? You taught her everything she needed to know, didn’t you? Don’t you pride yourself that she is one of your best students, calling her your golden disciple? She knows everything she needs to know to survive and thrive here at Winterfell. That Bolton boy, however much like his horrible father he turns out to be, he still needs her name to consolidate his new position in the north. He will not harm her. Besides, he won’t stand a chance against her charms.  
_

_How could anyone who has a heart not fall for her._

Or so he kept telling himself.

He knew that ignoring Cercei’s decree was dangerous. If any of his actions raised the queen’s suspicion, if she heard from any other but himself that the Boltons had turned turn-cloaks and were aligning themselves with Sansa Stark, and if by some poor throw of the dice of fate, his name was mentioned, his plans would not only fail, his own life would be in great danger.

He wanted to keep protecting and sheltering Sansa, just like he had done for these past few years. Cat’s daughter, the daughter he never had the chance to have with the woman he loved.

But he was running out of time.

He shall ride for the capital early in the morning. And with that decision, he made the one mistake in his life that he would regret more than any other. It would scar and haunt him in a few months time, when he finally managed to get back to the north to meet Sansa in Mole’s Town. It would haunt him until his very last breath when he perished, kneeling in front of her on the cold stone floor of the great hall in Winterfell under her seemingly unforgiving gaze.

It would even continue to haunt him, long after she had burnt his remains, and had scattered his ashes over the surrounding barren lands, and he had become one with the cold northern soil he had once despised so much in life.  

 

2.

Her eyes fluttered ever so lightly whenever she slept. He thought it was the most beautiful and most fascinating thing to watch.

He didn’t want to wake her so early, and wished he could let her sleep a little longer, but if she did, she might just miss it.

He didn’t want her to miss anything.

“Sansa?” He whispered, shaking her gently. “Sansa are you awake?”

She opened her eyes reluctantly. “I am now.” She mumbled. “What is it?”

“The starlings.” He was still whispering to her in stead of shouting, which struck her as quite unusual.

“What?”

“The nest of starlings in the birch tree right across the balcony. They are about to fly out.” Petyr explained to her in a hushed, yet very excited voice.

“Starlings?” Sansa muttered, trying hard to not sound as irritated as she actually was. _You’re waking me up at, what?_ She grabbed Petyr by his wrist to take a look at his wristwatch. _4:50. 4:50 in the bloody morning to watch birds? Seriously?_ She was about to turn her face to the wall and go back to sleep when Petyr shook her again.

“Oh come on Sansa! Don’t you want to see them fledge? Oh you must see it! You must! They only nest once a year and they never pick the same spot twice. So if you don’t see it now, you never will. Come on Sansa, get up!”

Sansa folded her cushion to cover over her ears to block out Petyr’s less then charming encouragements. _God, it’s like having a sleepover with a sad and lonely overexcited 12 year old. One that drags you to all the places you really don’t want to go, to do the things you absolutely hate to do, just because he’s so happy to finally have a friend and you’re feeling way too sorry for him to say no._

“Please get up Sansa! You must see them! Please, please, please, please –“

She gave up. Even in his hushed voice, his persistent hassling was basically completely impossible for any sane person to endure.    _  
_

“All right! All right! I get up!” She told him, rubbing her hand over her face as she tried to make her wobbly way down from the upper bunk.

“Oh please hurry up, or you’ll miss it!” He told her while he rushed back to the window, binoculars ready in his hands.

“Okay, all right” She sighed, still stuck in her whiny teenager mode. “Where are these _fascinating_ tree vermin of yours?” She muttered, taking over the binoculars.

“There, right up the second branch.” He pointed out. “The nest is right in the junction between the branch and the trunk.”

She took a look through the binoculars, expecting not to see much, but what she saw was a bunch of green spotted feather balls, all bundled up in their nest of twigs and straw. She saw them just peeking over the rim with their tiny heads huddled up close against each other, and despite the totally absurd early hours, she caught herself smiling. “Are these the starling chicks?” She commented. “God they’re absolutely tiny.”

“They are, aren’t they?” His face was beaming. He was so happy that she didn’t miss it and actually enjoyed watching the birds with him.

“Where are the parents?”

“They are up there too, keeping an eye on things. You see, they are sitting right on that lower branch. You can just catch a glimpse of them hiding behind the leaves.”

“The chicks look nothing like their parents.”

“They still have their first year coat on. It will change after the winter.”

Sansa suddenly gave an excited shriek. “Oh! One of them is climbing out of the nest. It’s sitting right on the edge and is flapping its little wings. God, he’s so cute.” Her smile widened and became absolutely radiant. “Come on then little one." She encouraged him. "Just be careful now.”

She gazed back at Petyr. “Thank you for waking me." She said with a sincere smile. "You’re right. I wouldn’t want to miss this. They are adorable.”

“Really? You really like it? Oh that’s brilliant. That is so great. Wait till I take you to see a Mock bird. If you think fledging starlings are wonderful, then a singing Mock bird will completely blow you away.”

“Mockingbird.” Sansa told him in a kind voice. “It’s called a Mocking bird.” She didn’t want to confuse him, but now that she could remember her dreams, and seemed to remember how he used to be, it was important to her that he knew the correct name of the bird species. After all, it was the very creature that he had chosen to display on his sigil.

_Now you are doing this again. He is not lord Petyr Bealish, the lord protector of the Eyrie and the Vale and the lord of Harrenhal. He is not Littlefinger. He has nothing to do with your deluded fantasies. If he wants to call a mocking bird a mock bird, let him. Just let the poor guy be._

But she really couldn’t.

As expected, her interference into his world brought him nothing but confusion. “Really? He asked, furrowing his brows in utter disbelief. “Are you sure Sansa? Because that is not how they’re called in the book. I am pretty sure that they are named Mock birds.”

“Which book?”

“My book. My bird book. It contains a description of almost every single bird species that exists in the world.” He went over to his bunk, shoved some pillows aside and presented her with a think volume, bound in leather, with a long yellow tailed bird of paradise on the cover. “Cat gave it to me for my 12th birthday. It’s pretty old, but I am sure that the information inside is still good. You know, they don’t go around renaming know animal species all the time. Can you even imagine Sansa? It would be a complete chaos at the zoo if they did.”

“Can I have a look?”

“Sure, just…please be very very careful with it.”

The book looked indeed old, like it was printed way back in the late 19th century. The pages had turned yellow and brittle, but the bird drawings were still very clear and beautifully vibrant in color. Petyr must have absolutely treasured it. Pages that had become loose had been carefully restored, pasted back into the bundle with an almost impossibly thin line of glue. When she came to the part that described new world Passarine birds, the book folded open on the page that depicted the common woodland mocking bird.

It looked exactly like how he had once described it to her. The only thing that was wrong, was the name of the bird.

“Look.” Petyr pointed out. “It says here, common woodland Mock bird. It’s Mock bird Sansa, not Mockingbird.”

“It’s a probably a misprint. It really should be Mocking bird.”

“But how could the book be wrong. I know it’s old, but it’s written by specialists. These people know a lot about birds. They know more about them then you and I Sansa. Surely, they can’t have it wrong.”

“Wait.” She flipped through the pages all the way to the back to find the table of contents, figuring that if it was a misprint, they probably wouldn’t have made the same mistake twice. She was right. “Here, you see.” She pointed out the page number with the correct name of the species out to him in the column. “It really is Mocking bird, not mock bird.”

“Geez. You’re right.” Petyr muttered, visibly taken aback. “They really are called Mocking bird. That’s horrible, that’s really really horrible Sansa. I’ve been wrong all along, and I kept telling you they were called mock birds, while they weren’t.”

“It’s all right, you didn’t know. Now you that do know, you can just start calling them by the correct name from now on.”

“But that is the problem with me. I am never going to remember it correctly. God, I feel awful, they are my favorite kind of birds and I can’t even remember their name right!”

“Of course you can –“

“No I won’t. I really won’t.” Petyr said shaking his head and looking very upset. “My head does not work like that. Every time I open this book I will read the wrong name and remember it all wrong. It’s never ever going to stick.”

Sansa was really starting to regret that she had mentioned it to him. _You should have left him alone. What had she done to the poor sod? It was just plain awful to see him so upset._

“Wait.” She suddenly had an idea and went to search for a pen in the nearby drawer.

“What are you doing?” Petyr, asked, looking very nervous when she picked up his book again, pen ready in her hand. “No! Don’t!” He urged. “Please don’t damage it. Please Sansa, don’t ruin it just because it has a misprint. Cat gave it to me. I will never be able to find another one, and even if I did it wouldn’t be the same.”

“Calm down, I am not going to ruin it. Trust me okay. Just let me change one thing. Just one tiny little thing.”

Petyr held his breath as he watched her pick up her pen and write down the letters (ing), just above the incorrect name of the bird on the page next to the illustration. “See.” She said, and turned the book around to show it to him. “Just a tiny correction.”

“It says Mock(ing) bird.” Petyr read. “The common woodland Mocking bird.

“Yes, and from now on, every time you open this book and look at this page, you will be able to remember it correctly.” _As you should_ , She thought, remembering the little silver mocking bird pin he always wore with such pride to remind others of his humble beginning, of how much he had accomplished and how far he had risen in the world. What she had done for him felt right.

_For a mocking bird is a brilliant little creature that with his alluring songs tricks all the other animals in the forest to fall for his schemes, only to take flight afterwards, mocking the others loudly for their stupidity. A mock bird, on the other hand, is a hapless, poor, defenseless little creature, his wings broken and his songs silenced so that he is constantly viciously being taken advantage of by all the other beasts in the woodland._

_Petyr should be a mocking bird. He should mock all the others who wanted to hurt him, not the other way around._  

Sansa snapped out of her train of thoughts when Petyr suddenly came over to her and hugged her so tightly that she could hardly breathe.

“Thank you Sansa. Thank you so much. God you’re so clever! I can remember the name correctly now. You’re right, you know, it’s just a tiny correction. I don’t think Cat would even mind. You have made the book even better than it was.”

“I am sure she wouldn’t.” Sansa muttered, completely taken by surprise by his gratitude and the overwhelming warmth of his embrace. She remembered that he had hugged her before, the other Petyr, the one who didn’t need to be told what kind of bird he had on his sigil. But he had never hugged her like this. He wasn’t the type of man to show his affection to her so very openly, or so spontaneously or even so sincerely. Not knowing how to respond, she awkwardly patted him on his shoulder, while she gazed outside the window at the tall birch tree where young starlings were still struggling the leave the nest.

Some sort of white ball of fur was inching its way up the tree trunk towards them.

“Eh…Petyr? What’s that crawling up the tree?”

Petyr gazed up. His face immediately went from calm and happy to full scale panic.

“Oh my God!” Sansa didn't fail to notice that he was shouting again. “That’s ser Smells-a-Lot!”

“Smells a what?”

“Ser Smells-a-Lot!” He was still shouting. There was probably no chance in hell that he was going back to calm hush mode now, making Sansa once again regret that she had opened her smart mouth. “It’s the cat of misses Lannister, our next door neighbor. He is really old and should be kept inside. He must have jumped onto the tree from the balcony.”

“You mean that is a real name for a cat?” She shook her head to get rid of her common sense, since it didn’t really seem to be of any importance in this place anyway. “He is getting awfully close to that nest." She muttered worriedly. "Petyr, where are you going?” She asked, noticing that he was rushing out of the room.

She was about to go look for him when he stormed back in, broom stick in hand, and ran out onto the balcony. “Petyr, what are you planning to do? No! Don’t climb on the railing!”

“It’s all right Sansa.” He told her, half standing on the lower bars while balancing on his toes and waving the broom in the direction of the now absolutely terrified cat. “I can’t let ser Smells-a-Lot get any closer to the nest. He’s going to hurt the little starlings. He’s going to kill them if we don’t scare him away. I like ser Smells-a-Lot a lot, but he has to stay away from the birds.”

“Petyr, stop that!” In her mind, Sansa already saw him leaning far too close to the tree and going head first over the railing. “You’re going to get yourself hurt!” Her sarcastic inner voice wondered why she still panicked really. It’s been like this every single day for the last two weeks since she had decided to stay with him in King’s Landing. No matter how much she tried to prevent it, Petyr’s life always seemed to seamlessly slide from one calamity into the other. Thank God, none of them had managed to kill him…yet…

Petyr! Get down from that railing!” _God, she felt like a mom watching over her three year old kid._ Of course, like a three year old kid, instead of listening to her, he just did the complete opposite and climbed a bar higher to the top.

“Get away from the starlings!” He shouted at the feline. “You’re a bad cat ser Smells-a-Lot! Misses Lannister is feeding you plenty of cat food. You don’t need to hurt the chicks. Get your greedy paws away from them!”

Knowing Petyr, he probably didn’t really want to hit him, but somehow, despite his God-awful coordination skills, he managed to swing the broom right on the feline’s snout. Ser Smells-a-Lot let out a most mournful cry, like the disturbing cry a rat would make if it was being slowly flattened by a car. He finally let go of the tree trunk, leaving Petyr and Sansa to watch him drop 4 floors straight down, right through the sparse canopy, till he made an impact with the hard unforgiving asphalt of the car park below.

“Shit.” Sansa muttered.

“Shit.” She repeated again, after they went down to the car park and found what was left of ser Smells-a-Lot.

“Maybe he is still okay.” Petyr opted, his face full with a sad misplaced sense of hope. “Maybe we can take him to the vet and he can fix him?”

“I am sorry Petyr, but ser Smells-a-Lot really had it. Look.” She picked up a stick and poked it in the cat's flank. There came no response of course. “His bones are all broken and his insides are all squishy. There is no way the vet is going to fix this.” She tossed the stick aside.

“What are we going to do Sansa? How did this happen? I thought cats were supposed to have nine lives. Aren’t they supposed to land on their feet and walk away like nothing happened?”

“How old was he?” She asked, suppressing a sigh.

“I don’t know. 12 maybe 13?”

“That’s a pretty old for a cat.” She replied, trying to console him. “We had a cat when I was young. She died of old age at home. When she was 13 she was practically ancient. She couldn’t even get out of the basket to come eat from her bowl.”

“So…maybe ser Smells-a-Lot died of old age then?” Petyr opted hopefully, but his pale face was still ridden with guilt.

Sansa just nodded.

_Or perhaps you really shouldn’t expect an old arthritic cat to bounce back to life after you have slapped him off a tree with a broom stick._

“Oh God, what are we going to do now?” he rambled, hands racking through his hair till it looked even more like a wild bird-nest than it normally did. “What are we going to do Sansa? Misses Lannister loves that cat. It used to be her son’s. She is going to hate me. She is already angry with me, but she is going to absolutely kill me for this.”

“Oh come on Petyr. It’s just a cat, and he was quite old already.”  
  
She is going to notice that ser Smells-a-Lot is gone. She feeds him every single day. She is going to notice when he doesn’t show up at dinner time.”

“We should go to her, and explain everything so she won’t go looking for him.”

“Are-are you sure Sansa?” He added, gazing down most uncomfortably to watch his shoes shove the dirt around. “I did tell you that she hates me, didn’t I?”

“Petyr, look at me.” Sansa waited till he managed to meet her eyes again. “It’s the only decent thing to do, right?”

“Yes…it is the right thing to do….” Petyr finally admitted meekly, chewing nervously on his lower lip. “He gazed down at the dead cat. “So…ehm…what are we going to do with ser Smells-a-Lot?”

 

3.

The door finally swung open after they had rang the bell for the umptiest of time. A blond man in his mid thirties was standing before them. He was at least a head taller than Petyr, and had a roguish sort of disarming charm that undoubtedly was very popular with the ladies. Sansa breathed out a sigh of relief. He didn’t seem too unfriendly. Maybe Petyr was just imaging things and he wasn't going to have such a big row with the next door neighbor after all.

“Ah, Bealish.” Jamie Lannister commented with a half a smile after he found his neighbor trembling in his front porch. “Honestly, I have not expected to see you here.”

Sansa glanced into the hall behind the tall blond man and noticed the many carton boxes stacked high on top eachother, all filled up to the rim with empty wine bottles. The sour smell of dried up booze, yeast, and sweat was wafting through the door opening. _How absolutely charming,_ she thought.

“Good morning mister Lannister.” Petyr managed to mutter, after he had finally picked up what remained of his nerves after they had been shattered when he was forced to ring their doorbell. He didn’t manage to say much else. Before he could push out another syllable, Jamie’s fist had connected rather painfully with his nose, giving him an instant nosebleed.

“Hey!” Sansa held on to Petyr as he staggered a few steps back, nursing his injury. “Why did you do that for? You crazy maniac, he wasn’t doing anything!”

“Sorry Bealish.” Jamie responded, raising his hands up in his defense. “Orders from my sis. She told me, and I quote, to punch you in your stupid face the next time you even dare to show your stupid head again, unquote. I apologize for the unnecessary violence, but she clearly has not forgotten the last time you almost burnt down the entire floor when you opted to improve your culinary skills.”

“You’re a bloody brute!” Sansa yelled back at him, before turning to her wounded friend. “Petyr, are you all right?”

He just nodded meekly while trying desperately to stop blood dripping onto his shirt.

“And who might you be, little doll face?” Jamie asked, glancing at Sansa.

Sansa was still too angry to say anything, but Petyr, after having swallowed most of the blood down, managed to reply.

“This-this is Sansa. She is my-my friend. She used to be homeless but she is living with me and misses Tyrell now.”

“Ah, I see. So Bealish here didn’t kidnap you?” He asked, winking at Sansa.

“No of course not! Petyr was very kind to help me out and take me in.”

“Really? So you’re _actually_ hanging out with him completely voluntarily?” Jamie rolled his eyes in amazement and whistled loudly. “Well…” He leaned forward towards Sansa and continued in a hushed voice. “I must warn you though, you might have not noticed yet, but our Petyr is not completely right in his head.” He swirled his finger near his temple. “So might you want to, you know, be extra careful if you’re staying with him...”

 _You’re not right in your bloated, pompous head yourself, you self-righteous prick._ “There is nothing to worry about. He is doing fine. Anyway, we are here to apologize.” She added, although what she really wanted was to slap him for hurting Petyr for no good reason.

“All right.” Jamie grabbed onto the doorpost as he pretended to brace himself. “Tell me, what is it this time Bealish?”

Petyr didn’t know what he was supposed to say, so he just carefully handed the shoebox over to Jamie Lannister and stared down guiltily at his shoes.

“What the heck is this?” Jamie muttered, as he opened it to take a look inside. “A really crappily wrapped early Christmas gift?” He half joked, but the grin disappeared completely from his face when he found out what the content of was.

“It’s ser Smells-a-Lot…” Petyr explained, his voice small, guiltridden, and very very frightened. “I am really sorry mister Lannister. I didn’t want ser Smells-a-Lot to die, honest.”

“Oh seven hells…” Jamie muttered, recognizing the long white fur coat. “Not the damned cat…”

“Jamie?” A woman’s voice came from the hallway. “Who are you talking to? Who is at the door?”

Sansa noticed how Petyr took in a deep trembling breath when a woman with long blond hair appeared. She was as beautiful as she was mean-looking, her icy stare came to rest on Petyr’s much paled face, and her ruby lips disappeared into a thin white line.

“Jamie, punch him.” Cercei Lannister told her twin brother.

“Cercei, I already did that.” Jamie tried.

“I don’t care, punch him again.” She replied, keeping her hateful gaze on her target.

“No! No one is going to punch anyone, certainly not Petyr.” Sansa said strictly, stepping in front of Petyr to protect him. “What is wrong with you people, can’t you see he’s terrified.”

“That sniffling idiot almost set fire to my flat last month!” Cercei sneered. “He could have burnt the whole tower down with everyone in it if it wasn’t for Jamie calling the fire department in time. He is a complete malice!”

“Calm down sis, Olenna did explain to us afterwards that he didn’t do it on purpose. I am sure Petyr here is very sorry about the whole fire calamity thing.”

“That Tyrell woman is a demented old fool. Who in the right state of mind takes a dangerous halfwit like him inside her own home? She can hardly take care of herself, let alone…What is inside that box?” Jamie had tried to hide it behind his back but she still spotted it, and she instantly recognized the white bundle of fur curled up in the cheap carton box.

“I am very sorry misses Lannister.” Petyr blurted out, although he was very afraid, his conscience was finally getting the better of him. “Ser Smells-a-Lot was climbing up the tree. He was going to eat the nest of starlings. I didn’t want to hurt him. I only wanted to scare him away.”

“That’s Tommon’s cat.” Cercei whispered.

“I know, I am really sorry. But ser Smells-a-Lot is pretty old, so maybe he died of old age…”

“Tommon’s cat is called ser Pounce.” Jamie gave Petyr a really nasty look. “Are you trying to be funny here, Bealish?”

“No! No I really had no idea that he was called ser Pounce. I thought he was called ser Smells-a-Lot because misses Tyrell calls him that all the time…Come to think of it, she also calls him ser Sprays-a-Lot quite often…”

“You fucking idiot!" Cercei screamed. "You killed my son’s cat and now you’re making fun of it! Tommon loved that cat! He adored ser Pounce, and you fucking killed him!”

“I know misses Lannister. I know Tommon used to love ser Smell- I mean ser Pounce a lot, I know and I am truly sorry!” Petyr said, and ducked in fright when Cercei’s hand shot out and grabbed an empty wine bottle from the boxes nearby. She was about to throw it at him when Jamie stopped her.

“Cercei. Don’t. Listen, this must be some kind of accident right? Surely you didn’t really kill Tommon’s cat.” He stared at Petyr and Sansa, urging them to come up with a better explanation.

“No, of course Petyr didn’t kill ser Pounce.” Sansa said. “He just…fell from the balcony. It was really weird, but I saw it happen right in front of my own eyes. Petyr saw it too. He was just so kind to go down to car park to retrieve his body for you.” _That should do it._ Sansa thought hopefully. _It was certainly not the best of lies, but as long it managed to calm down that insane crazy lady and stop her attacking Petyr while she is still foaming at the mouth…_

“I know I have done something horrible.” Petyr admitted, completely traumatized, and full of remorse. “I am sorry. I am sorry misses Lannister, for killing the cat of your dead son. I know you really tried to keep an eye on him, but he climbed on the balcony this morning and like Sansa said….he…he-he fell.”

Petyr was still trying to recover from having to utter that lie, when Cercei produced a cry that sounded so barely human, that it touched something very primal in Sansa’s nerves. Cercei came at Petyr, her eyes wide like saucers. Something very fragile had finally snapped inside her. “Get out!” She said, in a voice that was much too calm and soft, considering she was obviously feeling the complete opposite. This time, she managed to snatch a bottle from the stack and flung it at Petyr’s head before Jamie could stop her. It missed him just by the length of an eyelash. “Get out of my sight!” She now screamed, losing all the façade of her calm, letting all of her horrible grief and rage surfacing at once like monsters from the deep.

Jamie grabbed on to his sister, fearing that she might just jump on the next door neighbors.

“Get out of my sight you two faced traitor!” Cercei sneered. “Don’t think I don’t remember you! Don’t think that I don’t know what you have done! You child murdered! You monster! You killed my son! My family has given you everything you wanted and still you conspired with that old witch from next door to poison my boy!” She struggled against Jamie’s grip, wanting to get nearer so she could claw his lying eyes out. “I should have you locked up in the red keep." She spat. "I should have cut out and boiled your serpent tongue and fed it to the dogs. I should have chopped off your hands with which you have written all those pretty little lies and nailed them above traitor’s gate. I should have slit your throat while I still had the chance.” She was laughing hysterically now, somehow that seemed even more upsetting to Sansa than her mad rage. “I should have ordered master Qyburn to force-feed you one of his potions to fuck up your mind and turn you into a gibbering witless loon…oh wait…maybe I already did that…” The thought of it appeared to calm her down, and a mad sarcastic giddy laugh escaped her throat as she suddenly went weak in her brother’s arms.

“Oh my poor boys…” She cried, her voice finally turning soft and broken. “Poor Geoffrey. Poor Tommon.” She picked up the dead cat from the shoebox and cradled it in her arms like she was cradling the bones of her dead children. Jamie bundled her up in his arms and starting rocking her softly. “Sshh, calm down, love. It’s not Petyr. It wasn’t him who hurt Tommon or Geoffrey. You’re getting all confused again inside your poor head.” He gently caressed her long silky hair. “Now, let’s see where those pills are that doctor Sparrow has prescribed you, shall we? I think you might need to take a few.” He gazed up at others.

“You heard what my sister said.” He told Petyr with a warning look in his steel blue eyes, before he slammed the door shut in front of their faces.

 

_TBC_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I've been typing without stopping for the last 4-5 days and am basically exhausted and slowly losing my mind. So instead of directly posting whatever I have online, I will be hoarding chapters from now on and publish them just before the weekend. So next chapter is up on Friday evening around 18:00 *amsterdam time*. Now if you could excuse me, I am going to lie down for a bit and try to get rid of the little mockingbirds circling around my head.


	8. Chapter 8

1.

Sansa had never felt so relieved in her life as she did now after having survived that disastrous encounter with the Lannisters. “What was that all about?” She asked Petyr when they were finally back in the apartment. “That woman is completely mad! She is so far gone that she has literally left this solar system and is now heading straight for the bloody edge of the known universe. She is a complete fruitcake!”

“No Sansa. She isn’t.” Petyr replied, shaking his head. “You really shouldn’t judge her like that. She didn’t mean to be so mean. She has been through an awful lot.”

 _She couldn’t believe that he had just said that._ _Was he trying to defend her?_ “Petyr, she tried to stick a bottle in the back of skull. She practically accused you of murdering her children, just because you brought back her dead house pet. If that isn’t crazy, than I honestly don’t know what is anymore.” She said, trying to talk some sense into him.

“I did kill ser Pounce though.” Petyr replied in a soft, defeated voice. “She didn’t make that up.”

“It was an accident.” Sansa sighed, and came to sit next to him on his lower bunk. “Even if you did do that, why is she so upset? You didn’t really murder her children or anything.” She added, rolling her eyes at even how ridiculous it sounds.

“She really did lose her children Sansa. It’s really tragic. She had three kids, and she lost them all.”

“What do you mean she lost them? You mean the child protection services took them away because she is not considered well suited and sane enough to care for anyone?” _It wouldn't even surprise me if that was the case.  
_

“No they really died Sansa.” Petyr replied in a dead serious voice. “The oldest died of food poisoning a few years ago. The second, never came home one night after she went to a sleepover party in her friend’s house, and the last one, Tommon.” He sighed as he remembered the little lad. “He was such a sweet, kind hearted kid, but he killed himself, threw himself from his bedroom balcony after his mother didn’t let him see a girl he liked at school.”

Sansa mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding me right? That didn’t really happen to her.”

“It did. It really did happen. I told you it is all really sad. Luckily, she still has her brother to take care of her. Misses Tyrell tells me that misses Lannister drinks a lot. She drinks way too much. That’s why she is so angry and shouty all the time. I can understand why. Imagine Sansa of losing almost your entire family, everyone you ever cared for in such horrible ways. Misses Lannister may not be very nice to me, or to anyone else really…except perhaps her brother Jaime, but I remember that she was good to her children. She really loved them. That’s exactly why it is so hard for her, now that she has to learn to live without them. No one should go through something as horrible as that.”

“My God, you pity her.” Sansa muttered. She thought that she was going to be angry and frustrated with him for feeling sorry for that mad woman who had just flung a bottle to his head, but she actually felt a bit relieved that he reacted the way he did. _Basically, he reacted like a normal human being with a heart, instead of a cold vindictive little sociopath, like she had half expected him to be._ She shut down that thought immediately and reminded herself that he wasn’t Petyr, or that he was…only not _that_ Petyr. _  
_

Petyr just nodded back at her. “I am going to save up some money to buy her a new cat. I know it will never replace ser Pounce, or Tommon. But, maybe it will help to cheer her up, just a little. Oh I know!” He straightened his back and sat upright on his bunkbed, suddenly overflowing with enthusiasm. “I am going to buy her a kitten. Nobody can be angry or sad with a kitten. Everyone loves kittens, don’t they? It will definitely help her to not feel so sad anymore about ser Pounce. Maybe, if I can safe up enough, I can even buy another one for misses Tyrell to cheer her up too.”

“I don’t think misses Tyrell needs any cheering up.” Sansa noted, thinking of the feisty old woman with her barbed tongue.

“Oh but she does. She does need cheering up. She doesn’t really show it that often, but she is really sad, you know. She can’t live with her grandchildren and she is never allowed to see them. She really misses them. She never told me why she can’t go hop on a bus and visit, but I think it has something to do with her finances, like she can’t really afford to travel or move and live with them or something like that. That’s why it is so important that I keep paying my rent. She needs the money so she can one day go live with her family and buy herself a proper working hearing aid.”

Sansa couldn’t hide her desperation any longer. It was just all too depressing. “God, what kind of horrible place is this?" She exclaimed. "Everyone I’ve ever met or who you have told me about is either severely traumatized or has truckloads of god-awful problems.” 

“Really?” Petyr looked at her, genuinely surprised by her comment. “You think so? I have never looked at it that way.”

“Well, let me see. You told me about that weird Olly kid, the one who is in the care of mister Thorne. That little boy can’t go home for some complete unclear reason, and is horribly upset about it to the point that he almost jumps in front of a speeding bus to get it to stop and take him away from King’s Landing. And then there is mister Baratheon and his sickly wife, your other not so friendly next door neighbor, who sometimes comes out to shout at you because he still blames you for not getting his custody of his beloved little daughter.”

“But it really was my fault Sansa. I did fire damage his flat.” Petyr admitted guiltily. “They wouldn’t allow little Shireen to come live with them because the housing conditions were not right anymore.”

“Yes, but I doubt he will ever get it right enough to get his daughter back. Seriously, I have been here two weeks. I have only heard that man yell at people. He can’t talk normally. You can’t have a normal conversation with him. It’s like he is constantly pissed off with the rest world. I doubt if the man even has the right facial muscles for him to be able to smile.”

“Well, there is very little for him to be happy and smile about. It’s really sad that he and misses Baratheon can’t see their only daughter again.” Petyr muttered. “He really tried his best to get everything right.”

“That’s my point exactly.” Sansa huffed a lock of red hair from her face, getting slightly tired to be pointing out the obvious to him all of the time. “Everyone here is sad, everything is completely tragic, and then there is you…”

Petyr…she didn’t even want to begin to think about all the horrible things that used to happen to him when she was not around to keep an eye on him.

She clapped her hands and stood up. “Right, it’s official, you and I are living in a crazy version of a daily soap opera. Only this one is completely rated adults only, with busloads of violence. We’re like a really nasty version of EastEnders on HBO.” She concluded, wrinkling her eyebrows, wondering where the heck that last statement came from all of a sudden.

“Sansa I am sorry, but I am very confused now.” Petyr commented, having missed the whole point completely. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“I am trying to tell you that everyone living in King’s Landing is being completely fucked over. It’s like everyone is cursed or something.”

“Oh. Okay…I see.” Petyr gave it a thought for a moment. “I think I agree with you on that. I am pretty sure that we are cursed.” He added, nodding his head again. “At least that’s what she is always telling me.”

Sansa raised an eyebrow at him. _“Who is she_?”

 

2.

Sansa did not know what to expect when Petyr told her that she would bring her to see the woman who, according to his descriptions, was so amazingly psychic that she could “ _see the future through the flames in the safety light of her gas boiler_ ”. However, she was pretty certain, that she had not expected this.

They were standing at the door of one of the countless other flats in the miserable tower block where Petyr lived.

“Sansa, this is miss Melisandra. She is a powerful red witch from some far away exotic place on the continent that’s called…ehm…sorry I can’t really remember the name, it has got too many sses…” Petyr apologized, scratching the back of his head and wincing a little. “Miss Melisandra, this is Sansa, she is my friend, she has a vegan allergy, and she wants to know why we are all cursed here in King’s Landing.” He added with a friendly grin, happy for the two meet.

The woman Petyr had introduced to her was voluptuous, tall and beautiful, with long flowing hair that had the same color as blood that framed a white heart shaped face. She wore a wine-red low cut dress that left very little to the imagination and much to the exposure of the cold weather. _I wonder if she gets the flu often,_ Sansa thought. _If mom thinks that I am completely non-sensible with picking out my outfits she should really see this woman._

“Ehm, Petyr” Sansa took him to the side. “Are you sure that you are not just _slightly_ confused again?” She asked, fearing that he had dragged her to some sort of kinky private boudoir.

“No, why?”

“Did you have to pay her any money to let her talk to you?”

“Before we go on and create another misunderstanding, I am not a hooker, if that is what you think.” Melisandra told Sansa, gazing deep into her eyes.

Sansa blinked her eyes. “I am sorry. It’s just…”

“Hush child. You’re not the first one that I have dealt with in my life who had the same assumptions.” She curled her dark red lips into an alluring smile. “Come on in. _Don’t_ step on the living room carpet with your shoes on though.” She added as an afterthought. “I just had it steam cleaned.”

“So…you are a witch.” Sansa said, while she struggled on one leg to remove her shoes in the hallway.

“Not a witch. A high priestess.” She informed her, while she slipped out of her slippers and stepped into her living room barefooted. “Everyone here in King’s Landing calls me the red priestess…except for Petyr.” She rolled her eyes as if to say, well you know how he is. “For the record, I come from Asshai in the land from beyond the narrow sea. It’s that place with all the sses that he never seems to be able to remember, or even pronounce correctly...as a matter of fact.”

Sansa stepped inside Melisandra’s living room. The space was darkened by heavy black curtains that completely blotted out the light from outside. Everywhere she looked, there were lit candles, casting a eerie glow over the walls and furniture. They came in all shapes and sizes and colors. Some were scented with flowers or spices. The whole place was a complete fire hazard, so much so, that Sansa had to be careful not so lean or brush into anything that would accidentally set her clothes or hair on fire.

“Please take a seat.” Melisandra offered, while she herself settled into a comfy lounge chair. She shifted up her dress and crossed her long legs, and somehow managed to look even more naked than she already did. Sansa sat down on a couch next to what appeared to be a very badly done taxidermy goat with beady glass eyes, feeling not entirely at ease in these weird surroundings. Petyr on the other hand, seemed to feel quite at home here and just pushed a stack of ancient looking books to one side to plop himself down on the floor where he sat down with his legs crossed and his hands resting on his knees.

“I really like what you have done to the place. I haven’t been here for a while so I am not entirely sure, but are those new curtains?” Petyr asked after he had a good look around.

“Yes they are.” Melisandra replied, happy with the complement. “I thought it needed a change.”

“Wow, this carpet is really clean now.” Petyr commented, running his fingers through it. “I didn’t even know that it was supposed to be white. I thought it was dark red or brown or something. It used to have so many stains in it that I couldn’t really tell.”

“Yes, I did think of ripping it all out and replacing it with something that is going to be much easier to clean, considering how often it gets dirty, but a wooden floor or tiles are just never going to give you that cosy homely feel, don’t you think?”

“Ahum.” Sansa interrupted, having heard enough small talk already. “Petyr, maybe you should ask her the questions for which we are here?” She was starting to wonder why she even came. _The woman was obviously a charlatan or a real nutcase like everyone else in this place. Who in her right mind would decorate her flat like this, or walk around half naked in this lousy weather?_

“Oh, oh right! Ehm, miss Melisandra, Sansa wants to know why you told me that everyone here in King’s Landing is cursed? Could you tell her like you have told me? I don’t mind repeating it to her, but it was a while ago and the whole story was also rather long, you know, and I might not have understood half of it, and I think I might have forgotten about the other half. So maybe it’s better if you tell her yourself.”

“Why do you want to know?” The Red priestess asked, her dark eyes gleaming in the light of the many flickering flames that surrounded her.

“Because it is weird.” Sansa said. “I mean this place is weird. I have never met people anywhere else who are like the people who I have met here in King’s Landing.” _They are all bloody lunatics._ Sansa thought. Hoping that the red witch or what ever she called herself wasn't go to ask any further. 

The red woman nodded and leaned back in her bed of velvet cushions, her dark eyes narrowing into catlike almond shaped slits. “And you have dreams, don’t you? You seem to remember an awful low that you shouldn’t be able to remember.”

Until now, Sansa had just assumed that this psychic woman who Petyr had so enthusiastically dragged her to see was going to turn out to be a disappointing fraud, but now…she wasn’t so sure. “How did you…Yes.” She finally admitted, her curiosity overcoming her doubts. “I do have weird dreams sometimes, but –“

“Really Sansa?” Petyr interrupted. “Wow that is fascinating. What are you dreaming about? Is it about birds? Because I dream about birds all the time.”

“No.” The red priestess whispered, shaking her blood red locks as her gaze remained fixed on Sansa. “She is not only dreaming about birds. One little mockingbird, I do see, but there is more. Much more. You child, dream about an entire world. Another world, not like ours, one that you have long left behind.” She broke her gaze, and turned to stare into the flames of her many candles, as if she needed it to clear her mind.

“What do you know about me?” Sansa dared to ask. “And what does it have anything to do with Petyr, or everyone else in King’s landing?”

“We all have left that world. A long time ago.” The red woman said. As she now gazed into the flames, she saw the past as clear as it once was in days gone by. “Some of us do remember more than others. Most of us don’t believe in it though, and dismiss it as fantasies and delusions. That’s why they remain here. But you-” Her gaze diverted from the flames back to Sansa. “You are very special. You remember while you don’t need to remember in order to redeem yourself. So why are you here?”

Sansa’s mind was like a mad cauldron, the information that the witch had given her mixing and mingling with her own experiences and thoughts, till they made even less sense than before. “I came here, because Petyr told me about you, and I was curious.” She replied, hanging onto the thin thread of sanity, of reality, that she could still find to prevent herself from falling, from believing in all the madness that the red woman was now opening up to her.

A knowing smile curled Melisandra’s lips. _So close to the truth, and yet she still refused to grasp it._ The red woman was centuries old when she perished in the white waste in the northern lands of Westeros. Her soul is even older now that she had spent almost an eternity watching over the lost souls in King’s landing, trying to bring them into the light of her one true Lord. She had encountered many reluctant souls before who had rejected the truth once it had been offered to them. It appeared this auburn haired child might be one of the more stubborn ones.

“No, not here in my apartment.” She replied. If she wanted to play a silly little game to hold on to her ignorance a little longer, she would indulge her. “Why are you here in King’s Landing? This isn’t the right place for you. Deep down you must know that. My dear, your soul does not belong here.”

“What do you mean by that? What does my soul have anything to with all this?” Sansa replied.

“Sansa is not from King’s Landing.” Petyr tried to explain to Melissandra. “She comes from the North. She used to be homeless because she had problems and she had to run away, but…she isn’t wrong or anything. She is very clever and kind and nice and you can’t just say that to her that she doesn’t belong here. She can stay with me. I will take care of her. She can stay as long as she likes.”

“No you can’t Petyr. She is a stranger. She shouldn’t be here.” Melisandra turned back to Sansa. “My child, let me try to explain it to you in another way. Your soul is almost weightless. It is as light as a bird. It should fly all the way up to join the Lord of light in heaven, but instead you’re here, trapped in a place where every soul you meet is so burdened with the weight of the past that it is impossible for any of them to take one single step away from King’s Landing.”

“You’re saying that no one can leave because they are burdened by their conscience?” Sansa concluded, cold dread filling her heart. “Is _that_ why you tell Petyr that they are cursed?”

The red woman kept staring at her with unblinking eyes. “Do you realize now what this place is?” She whispered.

Yes she finally did. They were all trapped inside some mad version of hell. It sounded impossible. It sounded completely ludicrous, and yet, when she looked into the red woman’s eyes, the flames gleaming in the reflection of her dark pupils, she knew that it was the truth.

“That doesn’t make sense.” Sansa rambled, for even now she was still trying to reject her gut feelings with feeble logic. “Why are they all being punished? What has misses Tyrell ever done to deserve to never be able to see her grandchildren again? Or-or that little boy Olly, what could a child of his age have done wrong? I bet he has never even hurt anyone in his whole life. Or even that crazy lady who lives next door to Petyr, what horrible things did she do to deserve to have her children taken away from her so cruelly? And please, don’t get me started on what has happened to Petyr. What has he ever done to deserve all of this?”

 

Kind and gentle Petyr.

Lord Petyr Bealish.

Littlefinger.

 

The man who murdered her aunt Lysa and made her poison her own husband Jon Arron. The man who started the disastrous feud between her family and the Lannisters and the war of the five kings with his deceptions and lies. A man so driven by greed and vindictiveness that he had deliberately caused the collapse of all the great houses of Westeros so he could climb his way up to the iron throne over a great mountain of rotting corpses. Littlefinger, cold, manipulative, and corrupt, who held a knife to her father’s throat and mocked him as he betrayed him. Littlefinger, who conspired with Olenna Tyrell to murder Geoffrey. Littlefinger, who abducted her and sold her to the Boltons like she was a breeding mere from his stables, to be raped and cut and tortured by Ramsay, and who tried to control and manipulate her into murdering her own sister. That horrible twisted monster of a man was also Petyr, and therefore, Petyr deserved everything that he had suffered and will suffer in this equally sick and twisted place that was perhaps but only one step away from hell.

Sansa took in a deep ragged breath as all of her memories, not merely her dreams but her _real_ past, came rushing back to her.

_Geoffrey and Cercei Lannister, the Tyrells and her marriage to Tyrion, Littlefinger and the Vale, Winterfell and the Boltons, Jon and the dragon queen and the last great war with the White Walkers._

She had lived an entire life and had died in another world filled with kings and queens, dragons and knights, monsters and songs. A strange impossible world that was nevertheless as real as the air that she was now struggling to breathe in. With that newly recovered knowledge, she suddenly understood everything that had happened to her over the last few weeks, and the realization completely shocked and appalled her.

“They all came here after they died.” She whispered. All the traitors, murders and liars, all the villains who had caused harm to her family and of whom she once thought that they would never really get what they deserved. They are all here, trapped in this warped and twisted version of her own new reality. That’s why no one could ever leave. That was why Petyr was here.

“Now you finally understand why I keep telling you that this place is not for you.” Melisandra told her.

“Sansa, are you all right? You look very pale.” Petyr asked worriedly.

She couldn’t make herself to look at him. She was shivering, and felt sick to her stomach. She had often deluded herself that Petyr was so much like her former mentor that she had allowed herself to feel the same for him as she once did when she was still Alayne, his fake niece who he had protected and groomed into his protégée. Even though she later started to remember what he had done to her and her family, she had still been able to forgive him, because she kept telling himself this wasn’t the same man. He wasn’t the twisted little monster who had wronged her so much. But now she could no longer hang on to that illusion. The kind and caring Petyr she knew from the King’s Landing estate, who couldn’t utter one single lie without stuttering and blushing, was the same Petyr who had helped to murder and shame her family. They are one and the same.

She shook her head and brushed him away when he tried to place his hand on her shoulder to steady her. 

“I understand that you don’t like to see the worlds as it is. The truth is a gift that is seldom received with open arms.” Melisandra leaned forward, her pale heart shaped face shining like a beacon in the dark. “Yet you were seeking it out yourself. You came here because you were searching for something, or….someone.”

“No.” Sansa whispered. “I didn’t. I fell asleep on a bus and got lost. I wasn’t deliberately looking for anyone.”

“But you did, maybe not consciously, but you were searching. Tell me, why did you start this journey. What triggered your memories? What happened to you?”

Sansa stood up from the couch. “I have enough of this!” She went over to the hallway and started putting back on her shoes.

“Sansa, what is wrong?” Petyr asked, following her out immediately. “Don’t you want to know what Melisandra has to say about you?”

“No I don’t. I don’t believe in any of this - this nonsense! If you want to get fooled by a crazy witch, be my guest, but I am certainly not going to sit here and listen to all that gibberish.”

And with that said, she pulled her coat from the rack and stormed out of the apartment.

“Sansa!” Petyr rushed to pick up his own shoes and ran right after her. “Sansa wait!” He cried out, hopping behind her on one shoe while still struggling with the other. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere. I just want to get out and clear my head.” She told him as she rushed down the stairs.

“Oh…All right.” He had finally managed to put both his shoes back on and was rushing down the stairs with her.

“What are you doing?” Sansa sneered as she noticed that he was by her side.

“I am coming with you.” He replied, not understanding why she was suddenly so hostile towards him.

“No I don’t want you to tag along. I want some peace and quiet. I want to be on my own.”

“Oh.” He slowed down to let her walk in front of him and started following her from a few steps behind.

Sansa had enough and swirled around to face him. “Why are you still following me like some crazy stalker?!”

“I…I just…I w-wanted to-”

“God, you’re such an idiot!” She blurted out, her frustration and anger getting the upper hand. “Don’t you understand anything? I want you to go away! I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to see you. I just want to be on my own!”

“Sansa, please stop talking like that. I don’t understand...” Petyr begged, confused and frightened by her unfriendly words and the harshness in her voice. “Why are you so angry with me? I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?” He paused for a moment to think it through, desperate to find out what it was that he had done that had changed her so much. “Is it miss Melisandra? Is it her? Are you angry because you didn’t want to talk to her? I am sorry Sansa. I didn’t know. I really didn’t. I promise I won’t drag you to see her again if you don’t want to. I don’t want you to be angry with me. I am really sorry if it’s my fault that you are so upset.”

“You are sorry?” Sansa’s lips curled into a sarcastic smile. “Oh great, it is such a comfort to me that you are, _lord Bealish_.” Her voice that used to be so warm and kind had by now turned to ice and steel. “Now what, just because you happened to be cruelly punished by the Gods and they have turned you into a witless idiot, I have to feel sorry for you and forgive you for everything that you have done to me and my family? Is that what is supposed to happen? Is that why you have dragged me down here, to this crazy custom-made hell of yours, because you wanted to show me how sorry you exactly are for everything?”

“Sansa…please stop talking like this.” Petyr begged, feeling incredibly helpless. “You-you are frightening me.”

“ _You_ are frightened?" She scoffed. "Do you have any idea how frightened I was when I started to remember you?” She blurted out. “I was in the library busy preparing my exams, and this girl came to sit next to me with a seal stamp she had just bought from the local book shop. She told me she was making a wax seal for her loveletter to her boyfriend. I thought it was sweet and just happened to look over her shoulder, because I was stupid and curious and wanted to see how it would turn out. _It was your seal. It was your sigil._ A mocking bird with its wings folded perched on a branch.” She told him, her voice trembling. The recollection alone was enough to bring her to a panic. “All of a sudden, I was sitting behind a desk in a cold tower room in Winterfell. I had the sealed letter that you have sent me from Mole’s Town in my hand. I completely freaked out! I told myself that I was just tired, that all that studying for my exams had exhausted me and that if I took better care of myself, it would not happen again. It would go away. It didn’t. When I started to hallucinate during my classes I went to see a doctor. He prescribed me pills and told me everything was going to be fine, but it only got worse. It didn’t matter what I did or tried, I only started to remember more and more about you. I tried to pretend that nothing was wrong with me, that everything was still okay. But I couldn’t process anything inside my head, I couldn’t learn anything. I completely blew all of my exams. When spring break came I didn’t dare to go back home. I didn’t dare to tell my mom and dad that their clever daughter has mental problems and is now taking heavy prescription pills, and is receiving psychiatric counseling. I didn’t want to let them know that all of my grades have gone way down south and my academic career has tanked so bad that I probably have to redo the entire year.” She gazed back at him, her eyes full of accusation and dread. “Remembering you has cost me my sanity.” She whispered, realizing how true it was, and how much she had deluded herself by staying by his side, making her problems even worse.

“I-I am really sorry.” Petyr muttered. He looked so small and traumatized. _Just like those starling chicks shivering in their nest when ser Pounce was clawing at them._ She almost lost it again. She almost fell for it.

“Oh stop it. Just stop it.” She cried out, casting whatever she felt for him down into a deep pit, burying it under layers of frustration and resentment. “You don’t even remember, you don’t even know what you are so sorry about. That is the worst part.” She paused. “You know, I used to feel so incredibly guilty for what I have done to you.” She remembered the long dark nights at Winterfell when she was alone in the great hall, staring at the spot where his blood had once stained the cobble stones, her heart frozen and never able to thaw. “And I used to miss you. I used to miss you so much…I still do. But you’re dead Petyr. You have been dead to me a very very long time. I don’t want to stay here to keep staring my old ghost in the eyes. I have a life now, do you understand? A different one, a new one, and although it’s not perfect, it is a life far better than the one I had when I was with you. I have friends who care about me. I still have my whole family, my parents, my brothers and my little sister. I still have a future.”

There, whatever hurtful words she had buried deep inside her heart these past weeks and was so afraid to tell him, had been spewed out right into his face. It couldn’t be unspoken. It couldn’t be undone. There was nothing left to say.

Petyr swallowed hard. “So…You-you don’t want to st-stay here with me anymore?” He asked, his voice trembling and heartbroken, his eyes cast down to the ground. The ghost of Cat was haunting and defeating him once again.

“I am sorry Petyr, but that red witch lady is right.” She whispered. “You don’t belong with me in that new life. Just as I don’t belong here with you.”

She turned around and walked away.

This time, she didn’t need to glance over her shoulder to look back, to know that Petyr was no longer following her.

 

_TBC_

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

 **NOTE:** It’s (almost) weekend and I come bearing gifts.

Suggested music for this chapter

For part 1 of this chapter:

[Just my Soul responding](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wbGQSJWoEzs)

For part 2 of this chapter

[Take me home](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KNO0XFN8vIw)

I also found this adaptation of chaos is a ladder/Petyr’s theme that is very suitable for the ending of part 3 of this chapter. It is very unusual. It starts with the same notes as the official soundtrack, but than transforms into something else entirely. There is very sweet part in it, followed by a very bitter one. If you like it please leave the performing artist a like on her youtube site.

[Chaos is a ladder/Petyr’s theme](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VeNoUcTlyFw)

 

1.

Human weakness was his specialty. He had built his entire fortune on it. He owed his rising position to it. He traded in it and exploited it. He knew like no other the true value of human emotions, and knew all about its destructive potential, using it like a weapon against others. He feared his own weaknesses so much that he had sealed it away behind a wall of cold detachment and steel resolve. The wall surrounding his heart, or whatever that was left of it, was so impenetrable that no-one could ever touch it again. What he was left with was his stone cold logic and ruthless ambition. Place it against foolish Lannister pride, Tully honour, Bolton greed, Baratheon fury and the Stark’s moronic morals, and it was impossible for him not to always win. Those pitiful, neurotic, tragically squabbling highborn lords and ladies of ancient noble houses never stood a chance.

As long as his wall remained standing, he knew he would not lose.

Three months after he had left her behind, three months after he had sacrificed her at the altar of his own ambitions and dreams, he arrived at Mole’s town.

A joke of a town really, taverns and inns filled with stinking peasants, third rate sell swords, and ugly whores. But it was a neutral place. Somewhere safe to finally meet up with Sansa instead of going to the Stark’s encamp directly and revealing his presence to her bastard brother Jon or Ramsay’s eager spies.

Having given the order to his men to wait outside, he entered the carefully selected abandoned farmhouse at the edge of town, and waited for her arrival.

The first messages he received from his spies had filled him with dread. He had vastly misjudged the situation. Tales of flaying and senseless torture, of girls being raped, mutilated and killed, trickled into his ear like poison with every dreadful whisper that came from Winterfell. The thought of that Bolton boy, that vile monster without any morals and restrains, had his hands on Sansa made his stomach turn. By the time maester Wolkan, who served the Bolton family, sent him a secret message to inform that Roose Bolton was dead, not by the hands of his enemies as was so publicly proclaimed, but murdered by his own bastard son made heir, he knew that Sansa was in great danger.

Leaving King’s Landing with still half-finished business, he sped back to the north, and rallied his own army in action to come to her aid. They came in the form of the Knights of the Vale and Sweet _impressionable_ young Robin. Half way to Moat Calin, and he received the final message from Winterfell. Sansa had escaped with the damaged Greyjoy boy by jumping from the eastern castle walls. Ramsay’s men were supposedly on her tail, but after that…nothing.

He gave instructions to erect camp and sent out scouts to find her. Days went by without a single report carrying the news that he so longed to hear. Every rider returned empty handed. He didn’t know if she was injured, or captured, or dead. It ate at him like a disease. It tore at his precious wall, smashing it to pieces, till his weak and shriveled heart could see right through the many holes of his own failed logic and called him bluff.

He genuinely believed that he was slowly going mad.

When the news finally came that Sansa was found and safe with her bastard brother and his ratty band of Wildlings, he was relieved and overjoyed. Meeting her again became an immediate priority. He told himself that he needed to speak with her to safeguard his plans and bind her loyalty to him. He didn’t want to admit to himself that he actually _wanted_ to see her, to find out if she was all right. On his way to the meeting point, he ran through all kinds of different scenarios, how he would act and speak to sway her and bring himself back into her trust. In his mind, she was still the impressionable young girl, who he had shaped to become a mirror image of his own, who needed him for his guidance and protection. When she finally arrived to meet him, he realized that he had been wrong.

She was that girl no longer.

Her ordeal had changed her so much that he barely recognized her. She was very damaged. That he could see immediately when she stepped inside the barn, keeping the graceless six foot tall Brienne of Tarth closely by her side for protection. The way she was dressed, all tightly laced, her feminine forms hidden under layers of formless cloth, and her gaze glazed and lacking confidence, told him everything he needed to know. When she looked at him there was hate and resentment burning in her eyes. When she spoke to him, her voice was like a whip. 

“Did you know about Ramsay?” She asked. “If you didn’t know, you are an idiot. If you did you are my enemy.”

She stepped a little closer. He resisted his impulse to take her in his embrace, so he could offer his heartfelt apologies and provide her comfort.

 _I am sorry Sansa. I promised that I would protect you from your enemies._ _Instead I sent you right into the arms of a horrible monster. I made you go through hell._

But this was as close as he and she was going to get with Brienne’s hand resting on her sword, ready to cut him down on his protégé’s orders.

Instead of offering him a chance to redeem himself, she asked; “Would you like to hear about our wedding night? What do you think he did to me?”

 

“Did he beat you?” He asked, hesitantly.

 

“Yes he enjoyed that. What else do you think he did?’

 

“Did he cut you?”

 

“Maybe you did know about Ramsay all along.”

 

Her words slashed him like a whip, scarring him even more then her esteemed uncle Brandon’s sword ever did. Her rightful accusations were like a thin flaying knife that sliced and peeled away his layers of protection, till there was nothing left of him but the raw bleeding truth.

He knew he had failed her. He knew had screwed up with Ramsay. But knowing that he was responsible was not the same as feeling responsible. He had never held himself accountable for anything. Now he actually did. All of her suffering transformed so very easily into his own that it frightened him. Every sigh, every heartfelt confession that came pouring from her mouth ate at his heart.

His rational self told him to give up. Sansa Stark was a lost cause. He had lost her trust and would never regain it again. It also told him that it didn’t matter. Like always, he had played the game from both sides. There was always a contingency plan in place. The path to follow was simple. _Ride back to Moat Calin, convince_ _Robin to wait out the outcome of the battle between the two bastards, and after Ramsay had killed Sansa’s brother, which he undoubted will, considering the odds, strike when he is still licking his wounds, and reclaim Winterfell for the Lannister crown. He could still win this little in-between game, become warden of the north without Sansa, as long as he put his clever tongue to use to sway Robin and had Cercei’s backing. Ramsay will not kill Sansa immediately…She might even be still alive when he comes riding into Winterfell. But he would have to send the queen a token to prove his loyalty. Something she specifically requested._

The thought of sending Sansa’s head in a salt box to Cercei immediately sickened him, and filled his heart with utter revulsion for himself.

_What kind of a moronic, disgusting plan is this? How much of your soul are you willing to trade, you bloody lunatic! What kind of monster would even think of this? You know how much she has suffered!_

He would now rather cut off his own head, tie a neat bow around it, and send it to that bitch queen from hell. He would rather defy the Lion’s wrath and be devoured. _  
_

His precious wall, already weakened by months of worrying about her, finally came tumbling down. He had once sworn to never truly care for anyone again. He had willed his heart to ice, but she had pulled his protection to pieces, stone by stone, leaving nothing standing. There, lying amid the rubble, laid open and bare, was his own human weakness, to be exploited and trampled on, and it had taken the shape of her.

Guilt and remorse, once banished from his mind so very efficiently, rose like the dead in Northern winters, and they consumed him. 

To hell with the iron throne, to hell with his dreams of power and revenge. It didn’t matter to him anymore. What only mattered was her mercy, for he knew he had lost. Whatever she asked of him he would do.

 

He was at her mercy.

 

“What if I want you to die here and now?” She asked.

 

“Then I will die.”

 

_I know that I have gambled with your life carelessly. I realize now that I have been a selfish, stupid man. Please give me a chance to make it up to you._

 

_Please forgive me._

 

He cared for her. He loved her, and he knew that it would be his downfall.

He made a promise to her then. Not in words that were spoken, but in silence, carved out into his heart with a knife, while the words that he actually managed to speak to her sounded like hollow lies, even to his own ears. It was a promise that he swore to himself to keep. He had not been so sincere since he had ceased to be that naïve lovesick young idiot who almost got himself killed for the love of his life. Neither had he since then swore an oath to anyone that he had planned to keep. But this oath to her was sacred. He would act to it. He would forever keep it. Even from beyond his grave.

Ramsay was a warning. A horrible mistake he swore to never make again. He had lost the woman he loved to his sadistic cruelty. To redeem himself in her eyes he would do absolute anything.

For her he would go to hell and back.

 

2.

Sansa was desperately trying to find her way out.

She was looking for a bus stop. Either the one she remembered stepping off at on that first day she arrived in King’s Landing, or the one that was right across Mr. Qyburn’s greasy spoon café. Both were nowhere to be found. It was as if even the streets in which they were supposed to be had completely vanished from the map. With every passing hour, her desperation grew. Afternoon slipped into evening and the sun started to sink behind the ugly tower blocks, setting the sky ablaze like a furnace, before becoming deep dark purple, then fading into black, like a necrotic bruise. She thought she was losing her mind when the streets seemed to fold into themselves, presenting her with a mad puzzle of a maze in which she walked out of one street, only to return at the very beginning, till she only appeared to be going around in circles. How many times did she pass by that closed-up fish and chips shop already? Or that broken streetlight? Or that kicked in garbage bin overflowing with soda cans and empty beer bottles?

She couldn’t even find her way back to Petyr’s flat anymore. Her step hastened when she passed by a small sinister looking park, garbage and dog shit scattered all over the tattered lawns. The sky was clear tonight, but still completely devoid of stars and the moon was nowhere to be seen. Even the council flats sat like big black boxes in the landscape, with little to no lights shining from the countless windows. The streets were deserted. Not a single car passed by. It was also eerily quiet, nothing but the soft rush of far away traffic, and the thump thump thump of her frightened, little heart. The entire world might have ended tonight with only her as a sole survivor, and she wouldn’t even know. 

She was horribly lost. She was in King’s Landing after dark, a place she now knew where lost souls were gathered and punished at the whim of a cruel unknown God, and there was no one, no Petyr or even one of his horrible neighbours to help her out. 

_You didn’t want to have anything to do with him anymore, don’t you recall? You sent him away. You yelled at him to not to follow you. You wanted to be alone. You got what you wanted. You got what you deserved for being so horrible to him._

She stopped that train of thought immediately, reminding herself why she left, that her family was waiting for her. _Normality_ was waiting for her to return.

_So you have little set back. You can’t find your way out immediately. That was to be expected, wasn’t it? Even Dorothy didn’t find her way back to Kansas at once._

She had been living in this horrid place for two weeks now and nothing truly awful had happened to her yet. What is the worst that could happen to her now?

When she first picked up the noise she was actually glad that the eerie silence was finally broken. A least she was no longer in some horror scene in an episode of the Twilight Zone. But then it came nearer, and she could hear the mad barking of dogs, followed by heavy footsteps, and voices, young, loud, and male, hollowing through the streets. It filled her heart with icy dread. The one that was constantly shouting orders at the dogs, stirring them into a frenzy, she recognized that voice. It came straight out of her worst nightmares.

Horrified, she hurried up her pace, walking, no _running_ away from that hostile, terrifying noise. Her heart leaped into her throat, hot blood rushing through her veins. It was no use. She was spotted.

“Hey.” Euron Greyjoy pointed her out to his mate who held on to the lined dogs. “That’s that frigid bitch I told you about. The one I saw when I was at Qyburn’s with that big oaf Clegane.” He kicked an empty soda can in her direction and the dogs chased after it, pulling spastically on their lines. They were as large and ugly as she remembered them, with short compact bodies, heavy muscles and jaws, small beady eyes, and short snouts with wide foaming mouths and rows of razor teeth.

“Hey cream tits! Were are you going?” Greyjoy came running after her and cornered her with her back against the wall. “Remember me?” He told her with a cocky grin, holding his arms wide to catch her if she was to run. “We had a nice chat together.”

“Please leave me alone!” She didn’t remember Euron Greyjoy. Not from her other life. She had heard many terrifying, disgusting stories from Theon’s sister Yara about her mad uncle, but he was not the one she was so afraid of. He was not the monster she remembered so horribly well, because he had cut and hit and maimed her till she was but a shadow of her old self. When his shadow approached her, she shrieked and made a mad dash in an attempt to break free, but Euron grabbed her by the waist, smiling like a buffoon and acting like it was all a game. “What’s the matter cream tits? Is my mate scaring you? Is it his ugly dogs or his it his ugly mug? Hey Ramsay!” He yelled with an amused grin. “The lady is terrified of you. What did you do to her, you perverted cock?”

Ramsay Bolton ignored him, his large eyes gliding all over Sansa. If he recognized her as she did him, he did not let it show. “Never met her before.” He replied, coming closer with his pack of dogs. She could feel their hot damp breaths on her, right through the fabric of her jeans. “You sure look lovely though.” Ramsay told Sansa with a smile. She whimpered when one of his beasts jumped up at her. Ramsay stopped it immediately with one violent jerk on the leash. “What is a lovely girl like you doing at this hour in a rough neighbourhood like this?"

His voice was all politeness and sickening sweetness. She remembered it well. It was the voice he used to speak to her when he wanted to catch her off guard, right before he did something horrible. Hearing it again made her hair rise on the back of her neck. She was so frightened, but she didn’t want to show him that she was afraid. She would hate herself if she did.

“Let me go.” She managed to say, disgust and anger sounding through her every word. “What do you want from me?”

Ramsay acted surprised instead of offended. He liked women with a bit more balls. He wasn’t keen on weepers. “From you? Nothing. I am just out walking my dogs, and trying to have a nice conversation with a lovely girl I’ve just met on the streets. That is not illegal, is it?” He laughed, as if the very idea that he is some kind of malice was utterly ridiculous. “My name is Ramsay Bolton by the way. What is yours?”

“Leave me alone.” Sansa replied, still in a calm and collected voice, while glaring hatefully at him. _If this is hell, and he is in it, surely there must be some kind of punishment for him, some kind of weakness that I can use to get away. Maybe he has grown a conscience, like Petyr did. Maybe he has become less cruel._

“Oh.” Ramsay muttered, eyebrows raised. “That is not very polite. Where are you manners? Did your parents teach you nothing?”

That smug little grin again, that fake gentleness that she used to loathe and dread. She pushed her fears aside and told herself to focus on her last memory of him, strapped down in a chair in the dog kennels, screaming as his starving beasts broke off pieces of his jaws. The look on his face when she watched him being devoured through the rusted iron bars.

“Leave me alone.” She spat out, finding no need to indulge him in conversation.

Ramsay remained calm, but the grin disappeared from his face. “You have the manners of a back alley hooker, you know that? Were you born in a stable or something?” He grabbed her by her hair and yanked her head back so she was forced to look up at him. “My dogs don’t like impolite people. They hate it when people are impolite to me.” He let go of the lines, just a touch, and the beasts dashed nearer to her. She felt their wet snouts brushing against her legs.

“Now, let’s try again. My name is Ramsay, and yours is?”

“S-sansa.” She said, finally admitting to her fear, and resenting herself for it. But her heart was now rattling inside her chest like a frightened little dove in a cage, her mind recalling exactly what he would let his beasts do to her, remembering every scratch and bite mark on her skin, open wounds red and swollen, strips of her flesh peeling off.

“Sansa. What a lovely name. A lovely name for a lovely girl.” He stated, acting oh so very charming. “What are you doing going out so late all by yourself? Don’t you know that it is dangerous, with all the gangs hanging around this dump of a place after dark.”

“I know who you are. Let me go, please.” She was even begging him now. How low had she sunk? But there were too many scars, too many old wounds to remind her what he could inflict on her, to not be terrified of Ramsay Bolton.

“You do?” Ramsay glanced at Euron with an amused look on his face. “You hear that mate? Well that is remarkable, considering you are probably not even from around here. At least, I don’t remember seeing you here before.” Sansa shrunk when he came close, invading her personal space as he stuck his nose into her hair to breathe in her scent. “I am flattered really. I must be starting to get a bit of a reputation.”

He leaned into her, pressing her against the wall. Euron let go of her waist, just as he pushed his own hands against her chest and pinned her down with the weight of his body. He forced his meaty lips onto her mouth and kissed her hard, forcing his tongue inside her, pushing against the insides of her cheeks like a wet wriggling worm. Sansa squirmed and bit down on the disgusting intruder, hanging on to the offensive appendix and almost tearing it off when Ramsay flinched backwards.

“Auw! You demented bitch!”

Ramsay slapped her so violently across her face that Sansa was flung against the ground. He was about to hit her again while was she still down and scrambling to get away, when someone came rushing out of the shadow and flung himself onto his back, the speed of the assault pushing him away from his victim. Ramsay swirled around and slammed his back the wall to get rid of his attacker, who let go of him with a pained cry.

“Oh, look who has come to the aid of our damsel in distress!” He exclaimed with a grin after he had spun around to see. “It’s our very own village idiot! What are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you to stay out of my streets after dark?”

Petyr was still struggling to regain his balance when he placed himself between Sansa and her attackers. “Leave her alone Ramsay.” His voice sounded more petrified than threatening.

“Oh my, have you finally managed to grow some balls since the last time I saw you?” Ramsay mocked him, his grin widened, his eyes large and gleaming with excitement. They looked quite mad.

“Hey!” Euron laughed, recognizing Petyr. “That’s that retard who tried to wash Clegane’s car! You should have seen it. He was hilarious! You know him?”

“Of course I know him.” Ramsay said. “He is that bloody idiot who got my room after Olenna kicked me out. I swear that mad old bitch treats him better than her own grandson.” He turned his attention to Petyr. “How is dear grandmama by the way? Still not dead yet? Do send her my love will you? Tell her that I am absolutely looking forward to her funeral.”

“Ramsay, please let us go, or – or I will –“

“Will what?” Ramsay let his dogs run up to Petyr, frightening him so much that he almost fell over. He pulled them back just in time before they could snap at his legs. “What are you going to do, you little retard? Come on then tell me!”

“I-I am going to te-tell misses Tyrell.”

“Oh yeah, like you did last time?” Ramsay scoffed. “Like that time she sent me away after you told her about that girl I took home? So you do remember what you did, you little traitor, you sniffling little rat!”

“I didn’t w-want to te-tell on you Ramsay. Honest. But I had to. You were hurting that girl. Sh-she was screaming.”

“That is what happens when you fuck a woman real hard, you moron! It was what I paid her for. She was a fucking hooker, not some precious wilted flower. She was very professional.” He added as an afterthought, glancing over to Euron.

“Y-you were c-cutting her. She was bl-bleeding.” Petyr replied, stressed out by the very memory of it.

Ramsay shrugged and smiled almost apolitically. “I paid her extra? You know what. You’re not such a saint either. What are you doing with this pretty specimen here then, you little perv? She is more my age then yours.”

“Sansa is not a hooker. She is my friend. I won’t let you hurt her.”

“She is _your friend_? Really?” Ramsay’s interest in Sansa had just increased significantly. “You did not just have one of your sudden crack-pot brain-melt-down episodes and just randomly attacked me because you’re a complete loon? You _really_ do care for her?”

“Petyr, stop talking to him.” Sansa warned, realizing far too well where this was heading.

“Only a friend, or is she maybe something more?” Ramsay guessed, and glared at Petyr as he cast his eyes down to the ground, and wrung the ends of sleeves nervously in his hands. “Because I could have sworn that you had this same moronic look on you face when I ripped a few pages out of that stupid book of yours. You know, the one you’re so obsessive about? It’s like porn to you, isn’t?” Ramsay laughed. “I remember you told me that a dear lady friend gave it to you. So, is _she_ your new lady friend?”

“Please don’t hurt her.” Petyr blurted out, his cheeks flushed with guilt.

“Really? She is?” Ramsay clapped in his hands, laughing. “I knew it! Oh gosh mate. I am so sorry. If I had known I would have treated her very differently. Boy is my face red.” Ramsay told him, all sweetness and understanding, as if he was trying to make amends. “Euron did you hear that, little Petyr here is in luuuv! Isn’t that sweet!” He pushed Petyr away and kicked Sansa hard in her belly, causing her to cry out in pain.

“Stop it!” Petyr cried, running at him and trying to pull him away from her. “Stop it! Please! Please! Don’t hurt her! Don’t hurt her!”

Ramsay swirled around and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. The scrawny little lunatic was absolutely no match for him. “Shut the fuck up Bealish! You want me to set my dogs on you again?” he spat. “I bet you still remember them, don’t you? My loyal hounds.” He whistled and a big ugly mutt the size of a small pony came running at him, barking and bearing its teeth at Petyr.

“Tansey seems to remember you rather well. She has a real good memory that one.” The dog started to jump up, trying to bite his terrified victim in the face. “She really seems to appreciate the lovely time you had together. What was it again? 11 stitches? Sorry, she can be a bit overenthusiastic sometimes. Remember that time she almost bit off one of your fingers!” Ramsay laughed. “Such a hoot that was!”

“P-please, leave us alone Ramsay.” Petyr begged, flinching away from the snapping jaws. ”We will go right back home, I swear. I know we shouldn’t have gone out. I know it is your neighbourhood after dark. We shouldn’t be here. I am s-sorry. Please just let us go and we won’t ever do this again.”

“Oh no!” Ramsay said sternly, shaking his head like he was disciplining a disobedient child. “You’re not going to get away so easily. Now that you’re both here, how about a little hunting game before bedtime.” His grin was one of mad anticipation. “It’s been ages since my hounds had a good run for their money. Strangely enough, the streets are always deserted when we are around. All we bump into now and then are homeless drunks, and they are no fun, are they, my lovelies?” He petted the ugly mad things on their heads. “Oh no, they just give up way too easily.”

Petyr’s breath stalled when he realized what Ramsay was about to do. “No please! Please leave Sansa out of this. T-take me and let her go home. I am much better at this running game than she is. Sansa has never played it before. Please. Just me. I promise I will give your dogs a good run!”

“Petyr, don’t.” Sansa cried out, her eyes tearing up.

“Go home Sansa, please go.” Petyr begged her. “Walk away. Go back to misses Tyrell.” He turned his frightened pleading gaze back to his tormentor. “Please let me run. Don’t set your dogs on her. She doesn’t know how to play this game. Please Ramsay.”

“Oh I don’t know. It wouldn’t be fair to you would it? How about you both play? Make it more exciting for everyone?”

“No! No! Please no!”

But Ramsay ignored Petyr’s pleads and let go of him with a wide grin beaming on his face. Euron shoved him further away from the dogs. Realizing that he was no longer able to stop anything, Petyr ran over to Sansa and helped her up before swirling around and making a mad dash for it in the direction of the back alleys behind the park.

“On your marks!” Ramsay shouted. His dogs responded to the loudness and excitement in his voice with a chorus of aggressive barks and howls. 

“Run Sansa! Run!” Petyr told her. He took her hand and dragging her behind him, as the whole pack began to spastically pull on the lines, teeth bared and ears forewards, jumping in the air to better pick up their scent.

“1, 2 and 3!” Ramsay let go of the leashes and his hounds sped away into the darkness, heading straight after them. “Remember!” He shouted after Petyr. “If you and your girlfriend make it back to grandma’s old flat in one piece, you win!”

  

3.

“Where are we going Petyr? They’re right behind us!” Sansa cried out when they finally reached the back alleys.

Petyr swirled around, panic in his eyes. “This way!” He dragged her into a side alley, relying on what was imprinted in his mind from all the other countless previous times he had been chased around by Ramsay’s dogs.

Petyr had always been very good at running away from violence, in this life and in the other. Ever since his early encounter with Brandon Stark, he knew that the gods had not granted him the skills, or the physique or the stamina to do anything else. So whenever he was facing danger, he always fled, made himself invisible while others, those who were better equipped for these kind of savage actions such as fighting and dying heroically, went at each other’s throats. Now that he was no longer who he was before, fleeing was actually the only defense mechanism that he still had left. Five in the eight times, Ramsay’s dogs couldn’t even catch up with him, and he would arrive reasonable unharmed in Olenna’s flat. But Sansa wasn’t like him. Despite that she was 8 years his junior, she was slowing down and was already starting to get out of breath. He feared she wouldn’t make it back before the dogs got to her. So he dragged her into another side alley, one that would lead them to the back of mr. Qyburn’s store. He zigzagged more on instinct than on purpose, leaving the dogs that were right at their tail little room to take a straight spurt to catch up with their targets. He prayed to who ever who was still listening that the dumpster was still there and _please,_ _please_ had not been locked or taken away by the bin men for cleaning. He was so relieved that it wasn’t. Before the dogs turned the corner, he flung it wide open and helped Sansa to get inside to hide. He scattered a handful of kitchen scraps onto her head to cover up her scent and was about to shut the lid.

“Wait! What are you doing?” She cried out.

He pressed a trembling finger on his lips, his large frightened eyes begging her to keep silent.

“Petyr no! Wait! Don’t!”

The lid just slammed shut when the first hound came running around the corner, wet tongue sticking out and strings of drool clinging to the corners of its huge mouth.

Petyr waited, one, two, three trembling heart beats long to make sure that the dogs would follow him and not find Sansa. Then he turned around and bolted. He had waited too long. He just made it to the end of the alley before the first of them sank its teeth into his calf, and dragged him down to the ground. He kicked back with his free foot, crying out in pain and panic, but the razor row of teeth did not let go. He whimpered in fear and shrunk back when the rest of the pack came down on him, biting where ever they could to get hold of him, in his arms, his legs, and aiming for his torso and face. Terrified, he tried to shield himself off, turning over to his side away from the mad assault of teeth and claws, when he suddenly heard a loud yelp. One of the dogs that held onto the sleeve of his left arm was flung into the air.

“Get away from him!” Sansa cried out. She had climbed out of the dumpster and was wielding a metal construction pipe that she had found nearby.

“Get off him! Leave him alone!” She swung it like a bat on the back of another one of Ramsay’s hellhounds, making it let go of Petyr immediately. She swung it again at two others, hitting them on their sides. They retreated, whining and barking with their tails tucked between their legs. There was only one left, the craziest one called Tansey who had sunken her teeth so deep into Petyr that she was almost biting now into bone. She hit the dog twice. The bitch whined, and looked at her with blood drooling from the corners of her mouth. Petyr was in agony, and Sansa was about to crack that monster’s skull in a desperate attempt to help him when a fist collided with the side of her head. She swayed, temporally disorientated. When she dropped the rod on the pavement, Ramsay kicked it out of her reach. He swirled her around and flung her in the waiting arms of Euron Greyjoy who took and held her in a bear hug.

“Let go of me!” She screamed, watching on helplessly how Ramsay’s dog continued to maul Petyr’s leg while he squirmed in pain. “Ramsay! Stop it! Please make it stop! Make it stop! Please!”

“No! I won’t!” Ramsay told her. He was furious, eyes blazing. “How dare you to hurt my dogs you stupid cunt!” He picked back up the rod himself, and was about to swing it at her when the call of sirens cut through the silence of the night.

He lowered the rod slowly. “Fucking coppers.” He muttered.

Sansa let out a harsh cry in relief. _Finally._ She watched with puffy red eyes how Ramsay flung the rod over the walls into one of the nearby gardens. He then blew on his fingers, and the last dog finally let go of Petyr, and ran back to him, dementedly happy with its tail wagging, as if it just played an innocent game of catch in the park, instead of almost biting someone’s leg off. By the time the red and blue lights of the police car shone into Sansa’s face, Ramsay had all of his dogs back on the leash and Euron had let go of her, shoving her away towards Petyr. She immediately ran over to him.

“Petyr? Petyr? Please tell me that you are all right.” She whispered in a trembling voice. Her hands were shaking when she saw all the blood oozing out of his leg wound.

He just nodded, staring back at her from the ground with hooded eyes. She examined him and saw that there were shallow markings on his forehead and hands. Luckily, except for the horrible leg wound, they didn’t really tear into him. Thank God he was wearing his thick jacket and long trousers. She took him into her embrace and held on to Petyr, sobbing tears of remorse and relief.

The senior police officer who stepped out of the parked car with his men was a tall, slender, broad-shouldered man in his fifties. He had an intimidating gaze that immediately drew the attention of Ramsay Bolton

“Young mister Bolton.” Tywin Lannister said, his voice calm and controlled.

“Tywin!” Ramsay cheered, faking a grin to greet him and the other two policemen who were approaching. “You’re out on patrol again? When are you ever going to take a break old man? It’s been since what? Last Tuesday since you last tried to arrest me?”

“It’s officer Lannister to you.” Tywin said in a low and dangerous voice. His eyes, green flecked with gold, narrowed in dismay. He turned his attention to Sansa and Petyr. “Bealish, what are you doing out so late? Didn’t Olenna warn you to stay put after 9:00?

“Yeah, you should listen to my old gran.” Ramsay mocked him. “You should have paid attention when she told you about the moron curfew. You don’t want to go around breaking the law.” He joked.  

“You boy, are apparently the one who is breaking the law here, not Bealish.” Eyeing the blood that had soaked into the leg of Petyr’s trousers. “What were you doing with those disgusting animals of yours?”

“Me?” Ramsay answered. His face was one of pure astonishment and innocence. “Nothing. I was just walking them. They need to go out to do their business from time to time. You can’t have them shitting all over the place at home. Also you need to run them, otherwise it would be animal cruelty.”

“Really, so you’re _not_ terrorizing Bealish and this young lady here?”

“Of course not!” Ramsay laughed. He pushed Sansa away from Petyr and flung an arm over his shoulder before picking him up from the ground. “Me and Petyr here are the best of mates. Aren’t we?” He asked, shaking him up like a ragged doll and making poor Petyr wince in pain when his weight shifted onto his injured leg. “He lives with my gran for god sake! We are this close.” He crossed his fingers, before giving him a peck on the cheek. “We’re like foster brothers. I wouldn’t hurt him. He is a great guy! We were just playing a game. He was being a bit rough with my dogs, and one of them accidently bit him, but you forgive her, don’t you Pete? You forgive poor Tansey because it was actually your own stupid fault for provoking her, don’t you?”

Petyr stared down at the ground and nodded meekly.

“See!” Ramsay smiled. “No harm done here. Just a bit of rough tumbling, that’s all.” He ruffled up Petyr’s hair as if he was pacifying a child.

“No. No that is not how it happened.” Sansa told Tywin, stepping forward as she pulled Petyr away from Ramsay. The ruthless but respectable lord of Casterly rock had always seemed to her like the sort of man who didn’t appreciate bullshit. This was her chance to get that sadist out of Petyr’s life. “Petyr, please tell the officer what really happened.” Sansa begged him, gently cupping his chin to make sure that he looked her into her eyes. “I know that you are frightened, but I know him. I know Ramsay. He never is going to leave you alone. He is never going to stop hurting you if you don’t do anything about it now.”

Oh shut up you stupid cunt!” Ramsay shouted at her. “You have nothing to do with us! You’re not even from around here!”

“Ramsay. Watch your language. Petyr, is it true what this young lady is telling me? Are you trying to lie to keep yourself out of trouble?” Tywin asked.

Normally, he would indeed just say whatever Ramsay wanted him to say. Petyr would be horrible at it, stuttering and mumbling like an idiot while his eyes fluttered like butterflies trapped in a jar, his cheeks flushing red with shame with every untrue word that he was forced to say. It was one of the main reasons why he disliked lying so much. In his experience, lies were only going to help all the bad people in the world, only nasty folk like Ramsay would benefit from it, allowing him to get away with the most horrible things. But Sansa had taught him otherwise. There were good and bad reasons to lie, and he could not think of a better reason then to protect the girl he cared for more than anything in this world. A girl, he now realized, that he loved perhaps even more than his beloved Cat.

“H-he wanted to h-hurt Sansa.” He blurted out, pulling his sleeves down to cover his hands. “He ambushed us. H-he said he w-was going to rape her.”

“What!?” Ramsay’s large eyes were bulging out in anger. “I didn’t say that! I really didn’t say that Tywin! You are a fucking liar Bealish!”

“I-I tried to stop him.” Petyr continued, averting his gaze, afraid to look anyone in the eyes. “But he set his dogs on me. He let them attack me. One of them bit me in the leg.”

“Is that true miss?” Tywin asked Sansa. “Was he trying to force himself on you?”

Realizing what Petyr was trying to do, Sansa gazed straight back at Tywin. “Yes, He did.”

“What?! You fucking lying bitch! I didn’t fucking even touch you! Listen Tywin, I mean officer.” Ramsay smiled apolitically at him. “I wasn’t trying to do anything funny with her I swear! I was just fooling around, that’s all!”

“Is that so? Like you just fooled around with that Tansey girl who has just pressed charges again you for abuse?”

Ramsay pressed his lips into a thin white line. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him. “Geez! Why is everyone suddenly on my case like that! She was a street hooker! I paid for her, didn’t I?” He turned to his partner in crime. “Euron, tell him mate. Tell him!”

“Spare you breath. I have absolutely no interest what Euron Greyjoy has to say about your perverse pass times.” Tywin told him. “I do however, have a great interest in what her parents are going to tell us about you abducting their under-aged daughter from school.” He signaled to the other two officers. “Take him in, and you Greyjoy. Run along now. I don’t want to see you out in the streets for at least a month.”

Euron did as was told, while Ramsay was cuffed and led away by the officers.

Petyr shrunk away when Ramsay was dragged right pass him and tried to spit on him. “You are a fucking liar Bealish! I am going to get even with you for this. You hear me! You fucking lying cunt!”

“Ignore him.” Tywin said, as he watched how and Ramsay disappeared into the back seat of the waiting police car. He walked over to Petyr who was now leaning on Sansa’s shoulder. “Do you need us to bring you to the hospital to get that checked?”

Sansa was about to say yes, but Petyr shook his head fervently, his gaze still cast to the ground. “No mister Lannister. I think…I would like to go home now.”

Tywin just nodded back at him, folding his hands behind his back. “I understand. It takes ages to get to the hospital, and I imagine Olenna will be worried. Thank you Bealish. We needed a third strike to send him behind bars. That Bolton boy has been long begging for it, let me tell you that! The streets in King’s Landing will be getting much safer the coming months now he and his mutts will no longer be stalking the streets. If you and your friend here would be so kind to come to the station tomorrow so we can officially file the charges.”

“Yes mister Lannister.” Petyr complied dutifully.

“See you tomorrow at 12:00.” Tywin was about to leave when he had a second thought and turned back to him. “At 12:00 _exact_ please.” He told him strictly. “If you cannot find the police station again, ask Olenna to bring you. I don’t want to keep hanging around my office waiting for you the entire afternoon, just like the last time. There are more pressing matters that I need to attend to.”

Sansa hugged Petyr after the police car drove away. “Oh Petyr, I am so sorry for what happened!” She told him, choking on her words as she embraced him tightly. “I am so very sorry. It is all my fault. If I hadn’t yelled at you, if I wasn’t so mean to you, and was trying to run away, I wouldn’t have run into Ramsay Bolton. You wouldn’t have to help me. Now you are hurt because of me.” Her eyes were brimming with tears. “Oh what have I let him do to you…” She whispered as she gazed down at the damp crimson patch on his leg, pressing her hand over her mouth to suppress a sob.

“No, no. It was my fault. I should have kept an eye on you, but I left you alone with him.” Petyr told her, equally upset. “I left you alone with Ramsay Bolton. I shouldn’t have left you. I was so worried. I looked everywhere, but it was really dark and I couldn’t find you. It was my fault for getting here late.”

“Petyr…you didn’t leave me with him.” Sansa tried to explain to him. “I ran into Ramsay because I was so _stupid_ to go around King’s Landing all by myself after dark. You warned me about it remember? You told me to stay inside after 9:00?”

“No, no, it was me, I left you with him. He hurt you and you were hurt and sad and angry.” Petyr rambled, his own eyes tearing up. “You told me you didn’t want to see me again. I was so very upset. I promised you, I would do anything to protect you. I promised that I would never let anyone hurt you again.”

“But, that didn’t hap…” She paused. Suddenly she understood what he was trying to tell her. She recalled the disastrous meeting at Moat Calin. The change of expression on face when she told him that she didn’t believe in him anymore. That she didn’t need him anymore. That he wouldn’t be able to protect her. How she had mocked him, telling him that he couldn’t even protect himself if she ordered Brienne to cut him down.

“You remember.” She whispered, a small smile breaking through her tears. The realization of what Petyr had been trying to do shattered her heart into a thousand tiny pieces. 

“I promised you that whatever you would ask, I would do. But I broke that promise. I let Ramsay hurt you. I am completely useless.” Petyr said to her, choking up, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes filled with grief and remorse.

Her chest felt heavy with guilt. _Oh you impossible, stupid, stubborn idiot! You remember. Even after death, after all this time. Even after all that they have done to you, you still remember._

 

“Petyr listen.” She told him, her voice hoarse. “You did good. You were incredibly brave. You came in time and saved me from Ramsay. You didn’t break your oath to me. You’ve kept it.” She told him, her sight blurred by tears.

“So…d-does that mean you are no longer angry with me?” He finally dared to ask, fearful that he still didn’t deserve any of her kindness and forgiveness.

Sansa placed her hand over his heart, feeling her own heart beat resonating in his. She caressed his damp black curls.

 

“You are forgiven, lord Bealish, always and completely.” She whispered into his ear, speaking true. She then leaned forward and gently placed a loving kiss on his lips.

In the reflection of his grey-blue eyes, she thought she could see the snow drifting down, falling gently over the evergreen scrubs and trees in the sky garden of the Eyrie.

 

_TBC_

 

 **NOTE:** Pfff, God that was a long write! Hope you enjoyed it. Leave a message if you like. I think there are only two chapters left to get to the end, and from this chapter onwards, everything is just going to go further downhill… Sorry about that :( **Next Friday the new chapter will be published.** In the meantime: **A little treat for anyone who hasn’t seen the movie yet** and have a hard time imagining him anything else but our favourite evil whore monger: Here you go, the movie Treacle Jr to watch online, you need to click away a bunch of crap, and you need to click on the big red run button twice before it gets started, but it is working:

[Treacle Jr](http://123hulu.com/watch/OvkMR1GQ-treacle-jr.html)

Enjoy your weekend and see you next time. H

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

 **NOTES:** Another Friday, another chapter!

Suggested music tracks:

[Promise](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CVUOTzoVeZA)

[Light of the Seven](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pS-gbqbVd8c)

 

1.

Petyr insisted to go home instead of going to a nearby hospital, muttering repeatedly to Sansa that it was no use because it was too far away and that he didn’t want misses Tyrell to worry. When they finally made it back to the flat, Olenna came to the door, her face set for some serious reprimanding, but after taking one look at Petyr her attitude immediately softened, and she helped him inside. As Sansa guided him to the kitchen, she went to her bedroom to return quickly with what looked like a sewing kit and rolls of bandages.

“I told you so many times already.” Olenna said to Petyr, shaking her head as she helped Sansa to lower him down on a chair at the kitchen table. “You know that little monster is out there running amok with his disgusting pack of mutts after dark. You should have come back home immediately.”

Petyr, still much dazed by the pain, was about to say something when Sansa interrupted him. “It wasn’t his fault. It was me.” Sansa confessed, noticing the look Olenna was giving her. “I tried to leave. Petyr out went looking for me.”

“Well, that explains a lot.” Olenna took the bottle of rum out of the kitchen sink cabinet, poured a straight glass full till almost to the rim and held it in front of Petyr.

He looked back at her anxiously. “Oh do I have to misses Tyrell? It tastes horrible. I always get headaches in the morning after this.”

“My dear sweet boy, I know you don’t like the taste, but it’s better if you sleep through this. You remember how much it hurt the last time you didn’t drink this down first?”

Petyr stopped hesitating and took the glass from Olenna, taking a few sips. “This burns.” He muttered, squinting his eyes and wrinkling the corners of his mouth.

“That’s 65% navy strength rum for you.” Olenna tilted the glass so he would finish it a little quicker. “Come on, you need to get it all down. That’s a good lad.”

After the glass was emptied, Olenna waited a while for the alcohol to settle in his blood stream. When he finally started to look drowsy, she took a pair of kitchen scissors out from the kitchen drawers and cut open the leg of his trousers to expose the wound, before she started cleaning it with bandages soaked in rum straight from the bottle. Sansa kept an eye on Petyr, watching him sink lower and lower in his seat, his eyes already closed, till his head finally dropped and he rested with his chin down on his chest.

“Thank the gods. He is finally fast asleep.” Olenna muttered. “Here, hold on to this will you?” She let Sansa press onto the still bleeding wound with a piece blood soaked bandage. She then took a thick curved needle out of her tin sewingkit box, and attached a long thread to it before dousing everything in a good splash of rum.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Sansa asked worriedly.

“Of course I do. I have done this countless of times before.” Olenna replied, moving Sansa’s hand away so she could pull the two edges of the wound together before puncturing the skin, before running the needle and thread right through it. “It’s hardly the first time that Petyr has run into Ramsay Bolton and his mad hounds.”

Sansa’s expression was one of pure guilt. “How many times before exactly.” She whispered softly, as she gazed at the bloodied thread that Olenna pulled through the puncture hole. “I mean, how long has he been here, really?”

Olenna stopped for a moment and gazed up at her. “Is there something specific that you want to ask me?”

“It’s just…Petyr took me to see someone today. A woman who calls herself the red priestess who lives in a flat two floors down. She told me things.”

“Ah, and what did this red woman tell you exactly?”

“She told me that this place, King’s landing, is not what it appears to be.”

“And why is that?”

“Because…” She paused, fearing that it would sound completely ludicrous in the older woman’s ears, but she pushed on. “Because everyone here is supposedly a lost soul. This place, it collects them, it’s like hell or purgatory.”

For a moment, she thought she would dismiss her for a mad woman, but instead of mocking her strange story, Olenna Tyrell actually gave a sigh of relief.

“So you know the truth then. Good, it was about time. Shame that you have to find out from that crazy pagan witch though. All that Lord of Light nonsense and her mad obsession with fire reading, it doesn’t do any good to anyone to hear that sort of claptrap! And that place of hers!” Olenna rolled her eyes. “Have you seen it? That woman is _obsessed_ with candles! It’s a complete fire hazard. Combine this with how clumsy Peter is, and you have a real recipe for disaster.” She paused, the edges of her mouth twitching as she contemplated.

_I thought that Varys would have by now found his way to the poor boy. What is he going to do, if I am no longer here to watch over him?_

She erased the depressing thought from her mind and continued making neat stitched to close up the wound. Luckily, Olenna used to be quite good at needlework, although this was hardly anything similar to the gold rose motives that she used to embroider onto own her own pretty silk dresses. “So, I assume, you now remember everything from your previous life in Westeros?”

Sansa’s lips curled into a small smile. “You remember it too.”

“Like I have only died yesterday.” Olenna eyes were gleaming with memories of past glories when she looked up at her. “I can even still taste the poison that I have swallowed on the tip of my tongue. I remember everything. I remember you. You were Sansa Stark from Winterfell, Ned Stark’s eldest daughter. I recognized you immediately when you first showed up in my kitchen. I wasn’t sure how much you knew, so I decided to keep up the pretence.” She completed the last stitch and used the scissors to cut the remaining thread. “Do you remember me, sweet child?”

“Yes I do. You are lady Olenna Tyrell from High Garden. They call you the queen of Thorns because of your wicked wit and sharp tongue. We have met and spoken many times in the palace gardens of the Red Keep. You also murdered Geoffrey. Petyr, he helped you to poison him to prevent your granddaughter from marrying that monster.”

“Yes. I did.” Olenna confessed without a shred of guilt. “And a fat lot of good it did for me. My sweet grandchildren, Margaery and Loras, still died horribly, and I am stuck here for my sins, never able to see my beloved family. Let me tell you sweetling, this place is ruled by an exceptionally cruel cunt of a god.” She scoffed, and gave her a wink, before she dropped the bloody needle into the tin lid.

“And him.” Olenna nodded at Petyr, her expression softening. “Do you remember him?”

“Of course I do.” Sansa said, watching him, sleeping peacefully through the pain. “Although he looks younger then he was…when he died.” She paused, the horrible recollection of him grasping at the red slash at his throat came floating up from the back of her mind. She pushed it aside. “Did the red priestess help you to regain your memory?”

“No it wasn’t her. Let’s just say that I received a visit of a messenger who is not busy all the time trying to win over souls, in order to get himself closer to the Lord of Light.” Olenna wiped Petyr’s blood from her hands over the kitchen towel before returning to Sansa. Suddenly, there was a serous look in her eyes. “Please child, promise me that you both keep away from her from now on. That red witch woman is dangerous.”

“Really? She doesn’t look that way. Why?”

“The red priestess is known to offer the more _desperate_ souls amongst us an easy way out. I can tell you, hers is not the right path to follow.”

Sansa’s eyes widened. “There are ways to get out of King’s landing?”

“Yes, but the correct way isn’t an easy one. It is also rather tediously long, I am afraid.” Olenna paused and sighed deeply before she gazed back in Sansa’s eyes. “How old do you think I am dear?”

She had no idea really. “60? Maybe 65?”

“That’s very flattering my sweet. But I am 572 and counting.” Olenna replied with a cynical smile. “And please, don’t tell Petyr about this, or he will really try to fit every one of the 500+ candles on my next birthday cake. The silly boy almost set fire to my hair last time he tried to stick 62 candles on top, it melted the icing right off the bloody cake. Yes, that’s right.” Olenna responded to the astonished look on Sansa’s face. “I died when I was 62 and have spent centuries in purgatory. Yet not all the sins that I have committed in my previous life have been fully redeemed. I am still not allowed to leave this cursed place.”

“But, if it takes already this long for you, how-how long would that take for Petyr? How long has he been here?” Sansa asked, feeling sick to her stomach and absolutely dreading the answer.

“Well, he has been here at least as long as I have. I can recall that he arrived soon after me.”

“But then…he has been _stuck_ in this horrible place for over 5 centuries. 5 centuries of this _torture_?”

“I am afraid so. The gods have been extremely cruel to him, I do agree. It’s not easy blundering witlessly through life like that, especially when you have people around like Ramsay Bolton, who thrives on cruelty, and can smell weakness from miles away. Oh how he has tormented that boy.”

“This is too much!” Sansa blurted out, shaking her head. “This isn’t fair! It isn’t even justice anymore. It’s just horribly cruel! Why can’t he leave? Surely he has suffered more than enough!”

“I am sorry my dear, but it’s a fickle game this afterlife business, with ever more changeable and sinister rules. Trust me, I am speaking here from my own experience.” She paused, her fingers resting on her lips. “I don’t think Petyr is ready to leave, not any time soon.”

“He has suffered for over 5 centuries of this, and still it is not enough?! How is that right?! What does he need to do to get out? Does he need to _die_ here? Is that what the Gods want?”

“Sansa, I know that you are upset. Listen to me dear. If you want to truly help Petyr, promise that you will keep an eye on him. Make sure that there is someone there to prevent him from really getting hurt. Be the one who is ready with thread and needle to mend his wounds. That is all you can do for him.”

“Is that it?” Sansa muttered, dumbfounded and heartbroken by Olenna’s reply. “I just watch the Gregor Clegans, the Cercei Lannisters, and the Ramsay Boltons of this world torture and abuse him while I just stand by to wipe the blood from his face?” _No, this isn’t just. It isn’t right._ “No, I won’t let that happen.” She said determinedly. “Petyr can’t stay here. It will be his undoing. Can’t you see it is destroying him? I have to get him out. There must be a way to get out instead of sitting here, just waiting for nothing to happen.”

“You can’t do anything more child!” Olenna told her strictly, trying to talk some sense into her. “You can’t just step on the bus with him and leave forever. You can’t just take a car and drive him out of here. He will always gravitate back to this place. He has to do it _the right way_. A soul leaves when it is ready. When it is the right time, and when it has fully atoned and has finally found peace.” She paused, observing the clear stubbornness on the girl’s face. “For every one of us, redemption comes in different guises. It is not always easy to recognize, but of one thing I am sure.” Olenna reached out and took Sansa’s hand into her own, and gazed her deep in the eyes. “I am certain that his redemption comes in the shape of you. You found your way to King’s Landing, and you found Petyr. That is on itself already a miracle, but since you have been here, life has become so much more bearable for him. I have never seen him so happy and so at peace. Sansa, if you really care for Petyr, please give him time. Let him find his own way out.”

“But…that means he has to stay here. He has to remain in this dreadful place for god knows how much longer!”

“Yes. He will have to remain here for some time. So if you truly want to help him –“

“I need to stay here too.” Sansa whispered. The very thought of it filled her heart with icy dread.

“It is your choice my sweetling.” Olenna told her, noticing the horrified look on Sansa’s face. “I know it is much to ask. But you have to be completely honest with yourself. Is this a sacrifice you’re willing to make? In your heart, is he worth it?”

Olenna squeezed softly in her hands, before standing up to clear the table.

 

2.

They were still lying together in Petyr’s lower bunk at dawn. The starlings outside the bedroom window just started serenading the new day, and the sky had turned into a deep dark blue. Petyr was still fast asleep, lost in his alcohol-induced daze. Sansa curled up to him, nuzzling her head under his chin close to his chest, her arm wrapped around him, his scent and warmth filling her head with comfort and familiarity. She had not slept well last night, but she wasn’t tired. She watched him breathe slowly, peacefully, and gently caressed his deep dark curls.

She had thought long and hard about this, but she had made up her mind.

She finally knew what she had to do.

Carefully, almost soundlessly, she got up and climbed out of bed, placing a tender parting kiss on Petyr’s lips.

 

3.

She was alone again, wandering through the streets. It was 6 AM in the morning. The frightening place that King’s Landing had been last night now seemed transformed into a much more benign scene, despite it still being deserted.

Unlike yesterday, she wasn’t trying to run away. She knew exactly what she wanted. She knew what she had to do. All she needed now, was to find the strength and courage to go through with her plan. So she walked around King’s Landing, trying to clear her head of her worries and doubts, till she thought her heart had finally fortified enough for her to continue.

She passed a row of small local shops on her way back to the tower block. Just by chance, she glanced into the window of what appeared to be a chaotic nick-nack shop that sold second hand furniture and clothing.

There, lying on a tattered piece of blue velvet cloth, in a tray of tarnished silver, was a shiny silver mocking bird pin.

It didn’t look exactly like the one Petyr once had. The bird still had the same short beak, the same ladder-like markings on its tail, and the same large circle around the eye. But instead of tucked-in wings, this bird was taking flight, its wings spread out in a delicate V shape.

Sansa’s breath stuck in her chest. To her, the sudden appearance of his sigil was like a sign, reassuring her that she had indeed taken the right decision for them both.

She had wanted to return to the flat before Petyr woke up. Instead, she decided to wait outside of the shop till it finally opened at 9:00 to purchase the silver pin. 

 

4.

She had to ring the doorbell twice, before she finally came to answer the door.

“I have not expected to see you again so soon.” Melisandre told her. It was almost 10:00 in the morning, but the woman who claimed to be a high priestess was still dressed in her night gown, a thin translucent thing that hugged her curves and was only held up with straps that consisted of little more but a few threads of silk. She leaned against the doorpost with her arms crossed over her bosom and her blood red lips curled into an amused pout.

“May I come in?” Sansa asked, wondering what the neighbours would think seeing her here with the red priestess like this.

Melisandre turned around, leaving the door open for her.

“You said that you did not believe in what I’ve told you. You choose to reject the truth.” The red priestess reminded her as she entered the living room and slipped back into her lounge chair, crossing her long legs.

“I do believe what you told to me. I was just scared. I didn’t want to accept it. But now I do.” Sansa sat down opposite to her on the couch, folding her hands in her lap. “Last night, I heard from Olenna Tyrell that you can help people who are trapped here in King’s Landing to find a way out. She said that you have ways to get lost souls out of this hellish place. Is that true?”

“Yes. It is true.” She replied with a knowing smile. “But you don’t need my help to get out of purgatory my child. This place was never intended for you. You are lost here, but you can easily find your way back home. You still have connections outside, rooted in your own world, sacred bonds of blood with your family that cannot be severed so easily, not even across different planes of existence. All you have to do, is ask for help, and they will come and take you home.”

The reassurance that she could always return home brought Sansa a deep sense of relief. Secretly, she had been wondering. “I am not here to ask your help for myself. I am here, to ask you to help Petyr.”

“Petyr Bealish?” Melisandre repeated, lifting her eyebrows, her lips curling into an amused smile.

“Yes. Olenna tells me that his soul is not ready to leave yet, that he needs more time to atone and get ready. But he has been here for centuries. All that time, he has been at the mercy of these horrible people who are tormenting him day and night while he doesn’t have his wits to protect himself. He has endured so much, and still he is not permitted to leave. I can’t watch him like this. I can’t leave him here, knowing what will happen to him every single day of his horrible life for probably another eternity.”

Sensing that she was in a dilemma, Milesandra asked; “What do you want child?”

“I want to go back home.” Sansa told her, her heart pouring out the truth. She really yearned to see her family again. Especially now she could remember how it once felt to have to live without them. “But I can’t leave Petyr behind. I want to take him with me. I want to take care of him.” She told Melisandre, in a voice that was full of guilt, as if she wanted to atone for the first confession. She wanted to return to where she belonged _and_ she wanted to be with Petyr. She knew it sounded greedy and perhaps also very selfish, but this is what she truly desired. There could be no compromise. And why shouldn’t she be able to have both? 

“Olenna said that it was no use in trying to leave King’s Landing by physically dragging him out. She said it wouldn’t work.”

“And she is right. Souls that have not fully atoned for their sins will always return here. Either by the fickle workings of fate or on their own.”

Sansa recalled how Petyr always tried to get back to King’s Landing every time after they finished work in the city. She remembered him telling her that he used to wander around in London, sleeping out in the streets while looking for Cat, but he came back to live with misses Tyrell in King’s Landing because he believed that Cat would one day return here to find him. She realized that the red woman was telling her the truth. 

“Could you please help him? Help me to get Petyr out of purgatory. I can assure you, he is not the same man who died all those years ago, who came here to be punished for his horrible crimes. He is kind, and forgiving, and gentle, and does know right from wrong now. He cares for everyone but himself. He would go through hell’s fire for misses Tyrell. He saved me last night, rescued me from Ramsay Bolton and was attacked by his horrid dogs.”

She gazed at Melisandre who looked back at her with a face devoid of any emotions.

“For god’s sake.” She pleaded. “He can’t even lie without hating himself for it. He doesn’t deserve this torture. Not any more. He has suffered enough. Please help him!” 

“My child, I don’t care if he deserves it or not. The Lord I serve has not created this place. The god of the light does not see the world in black and white. Sinners, saint, whores or virgins, murderers or healers, selfish liars or men of high morals and honour, they are all the same in his eyes. You don’t need to justify why he must be saved. As long as you are willing to pay the price for his salvation.”

“A-a Price?” _Of course there was._ _How naïve can you be Sansa._ She heard her old mentor speak to her. _In this world nothing comes without a price._

“These favours you ask of me can indeed be granted by my lord, if it is his will that Petyr Bealish leaves this plane of existence in exchange for yours. But it has to be what my Lord wants. I have to warn you, if indeed it is what he desires, such a favour will require a sacrifice.”

“What _kind_ of sacrifice?”

“You will find out when the time comes. For now, I need to know, are you sure that you want him to leave? His soul is not trapped here by the other gods for no reason. Freeing him into your world without full atonement could have…certain consequences.

“Oh but Petyr wouldn’t hurt anyone.” Sansa replied, more then convinced that she was right. “Not how he is now. I promise I will look after him and prevent him from doing anything horrible and stupid ever again.”

“So you are sure? This is truly what your heart desires?”

“Yes. Yes I am absolutely sure. I want to get him out. I want to take him home with me. I want to take care of him. I – love him.” Sansa whispered, knowing that all she said was true.

“I am happy to hear that you are so devoted to your cause.” Melisandra told her, slowly rising back to her feet. “The lord of the light recognizes souls that yearn as much as yours for love, and joy, and happiness. Such rare, precious things in this dark and dangerous world.” Her words were strangely comforting, like that of a mortician consoling the family of the deceased.

“Tonight I shall look into the flames for you to plead your case to my lord.” She pledged. “If my lord is willing, I shall help the late foolish lord of Harrenhal to pass over to your world.” She touched Sansa’s arm gently as she guided her out. “Come back tomorrow and you will know what is decided. If the answer is yes, with a bit of luck, I can perform the required ritual for him the very same night. Don’t despair for your love, my child.” She finally told her with a smile. “He shall be a tortured soul lost in purgatory no more, but become a radiant servant of our Lord’s eternal light.”

Sansa nodded, eagerly agreeing to all of this. Although she did not understand entirely what Melisandra meant with her sacrifices, and serving her strange god, if it would set Petyr free, it didn’t matter. She would fall on her knees and pray to a thousand different gods if that what was required to get him out.

Sansa was already in the hallway, one hand resting on the doorhandle, when Melisandre called her back. “One more thing. I shall need a token of faith to show to my lord before we perform the ritual. For that I need to ask a contribution from you. It’s something vulgar, offensive even in the eyes of the lord of Light, but I assure you, I have good cause to request this from you.”

“What do you need?” Sansa asked, fearing that it would be something weird and horrible like the blood of a virgin, or a sacrificial animal, or a shrunken head of a monkey or anything twisted like that.

“I need 6000 pounds.” Melisandra replied, without even blinking her eyes. “Cash only please.”

 

5.

She went out to the park behind the small shopping area near Petyr’s flat to do dreaded the phone call. When she retrieved her mobile from her coat pocket and switched it on, she felt her heart drum madly inside her chest. It had been 15 days since her last call to her family. Her heart lurched at the sight of the 100+ new Whatsapp and left message notifications that appeared on her screen as soon as her phone had contacted the provider. She didn’t want to look at the desperate messages, and clicked them away fast like they were poison to get to the list of contact numbers. When she found the mobile number of her father, she dialled it, and waited, the air choking in her lungs.

“Hello?” She had to suppress a sob when he finally picked up the phone and she heard his voice. “Sansa? Sansa is that you?” He had recognized her number on his phone display.

“Yes. Yes dad it’s me.”

“Oh God!” He gasped. “Sansa! We’ve been so worried about you!”

“Sorry.”

“Your mother was besides herself when you didn’t come home after your last call. We called everyone we knew at uni. Your brothers and I went searching near the station and in the city. We took the car to Oxford to talk to people and to look for you. We called the police. We thought the worst. Where the hell have you been!”

“Dad.” Sansa whispered, her eyes wet with tears. She had never heard him speak so much in such a short time. He sounded worried and tired and relieved and overjoyed, all at the same time, and she remembered how wonderful it felt to have his strong arms wrapped her, protecting her and telling her that everything was going to be all right. She was a horrible daughter to make him worry so much. “I am sorry…I am sorry I ran away. I didn’t want to make everyone so upset.”

“We are not upset child. We were worried. No matter what is wrong, no matter what kind of problems you have, you can always come home and tell us. You didn’t need to hide things from us. We’re family. We love you very much, my silly little girl. You know that don’t you?”

“Yes. Yes I do.” She replied. Her heart yearned to see her father’s face again. She recalled how he had gazed up at her, when he was kneeling down in front of a large crowd at the Sept of Bealor, when Geoffrey called for his head. The dread and worries in his eyes when he realized that he was going to die and had to leave his daughter behind in the hands of those who would certainly harm her. Hot tears started falling down her cheeks.

“Please tell me where you. I will pick you up immediately. You have to come home.”

“No, dad.” She said, forcing herself to be brave, and reminding herself of Petyr. “I didn’t call to…I want to come home. I really do, but I have met someone, and I need to take care of things first.”

“What do you mean?” His voice was suddenly filled with trepidation. “Who did you meet? What are you talking about?”

“I met a man. I met him on the bus when I was sleeping rough in the streets. He took care of me, and now...” Sansa didn’t know what to say to her father anymore. How could she explain to him what she knew? How could she tell him that she met Petyr Bealish, the man who had betrayed him and had caused his death in another world, that she was now trying to save him from purgatory and that the red priestess was asking her for money she didn’t have to pay for the fare? Her father would think that she had completely lost her mind. He wouldn’t help her the way she wanted him to. So…she decided to lie.

“Dad, I am in trouble.” She told him, putting as much panic and dread in her voice as possible. “I can’t get out. I can’t get away. I need money. I took all the money I had from my student bank account, but it is not enough. Please dad, please, can you help me? I need another 5000 pounds.”

“Sansa.” Ned Stark’s voice was now burdened with shock and worry. “Are you doing drugs?”

“What? No dad - ”

“Did that man do this you? Did he hurt you? Did he force you to get that money from your bank account?” Ned asked, his anger rising in the back of his throat.

“No, no dad! Petyr didn’t do any of those things.” She blurted out, before she could stop herself.

“Oh my darling girl, what is happening to you? Tell me honestly, why do you need all that money for?”

“Please don’t ask.” She begged, feeling horrible to have to lie to him, for not being able to tell him anything.

“I am in real trouble. I really need your help. I promise I will call you back and let you know where I am. You can pick me up right away and take me home.” She lied. “Please dad, there is nothing in the world I want more to come home to you, but I really need that money. There is no one else I can turn to. Can you please, _please_ transfer it to my student bank account?”

It took Sansa a few more lines to persuade Ned. By the time she finally hung up, Eddard Stark had promised his daughter to do exactly what she had asked for. It gave her some peace of mind, despite the awful guilt that was now eating at her heart. She knew that her father would never break a promise.

So she dried her eyes and waited a little while before going back to the nearby ATM machine to withdraw the money. Although it was day, she didn’t feel very safe going around King’s Landing with this much money on her. She much more preferred to hand it over to the red woman immediately. Let her deal with it. Folding the bills in her pockets, she hastened to get back to Melisandra.

 

6.

She returned to Olenna’s flat in the early afternoon, much later than she had intended. “Petyr?” She called down the hallway. She went looking for him in the kitchen and in his bedroom. He wasn’t there. The sheets of his bunkbed were crumpled up and were thrown in a corner. His jacket still hung over the back of a chair. “Petyr!” Sansa called out, worried now that he had run out to look for her again. “Petyr are you there?”

She walked by Olenna’s bedroom and noticed that the drawers of her dresser were all pulled out, the content of many of them lying scattered all over the carpet. It was the sort of desperate chaotic mess that only Petyr could make if he was anxious and in a rush.

“Petyr, were are you?!

When she moved further down the hall, she saw a pair of feet lying on the floor, sticking out of the doorway of the living room. When she came nearer, she saw that they belonged to a pair of legs wearing green woollen stockings that reached all the way to the knees. She rushed into the living room and found Olenna lying on the ground, her cane by her side, her face pale, and the corners of her mouth sagging to one side.

Sansa was horrified. “Olenna? Do you hear me? What happened?”

“I-I fell.” Her hands were shaking. Her voice was a frail pained whisper. “Stupid hip…stupid ac-cident.” She winced.

“You’re bleeding.” Sansa muttered, noticing the damp dark patch of grey hair at the side of her skull. “You need to go to a hospital right away.” Sansa tried to keep her panic under control and took out her phone and dialled the emergency number, ignoring the string of fresh messages that were left behind by her dad. Her heart was sick with worries. After so many times being told by everyone that the ambulance wouldn’t turn up in King’s Landing because it was too far away, she now dreaded that the line would be dead. To her great relief, someone, a woman who sounded refreshingly normal and sane, picked up her call.

_Maybe the National Health Service does cover lost souls in purgatory, despite all the cuts._

She explained in broken, choked up sentences what happened to the helpful lady, and told her where they supposedly were and could they please, _please_ send someone quick. “They are coming Olenna.” She reassured misses Tyrell, crouching beside her and taking her hand. “You’re going to be all right.”

“No my dear. I am dying.” Olenna replied, with a voice that had regained a shadow of her former strength. “No, no tears.” The old woman muttered when she saw the shock and grief on Sansa’s face. “Please, I can’t stand them.”

“You’re not going to die.” Sansa told her stubbornly. “It’s just a silly little accident. They are going to take you to the hospital. They are going to fix you.” Despite forcing herself not to cry, a big teardrop rolled down her cheek and splashed onto Olenna’s hand.

“Oh stop hoping child. They are never going to come for me in time.”

“Where is Petyr?” _He should be here._ She needed him here. Sansa thought that she was in control of the situation. She thought she knew what she had to do, but she didn’t. She was scared and she needed him to help and comfort her. Who knows, maybe he knew a way to save Olenna.

“I told him to-to go out. To get my pills.”

“Why did you do that? Will they help?”

“Of course not. I a-am dying of a brain hemorrhage. Not a cardiac arrest. I just –wanted to send him away. I don’t want him to see me like this.” Olenna’s own eyes were getting moist with tears. She pinched them shut to get rid of them. She wasn’t going to show her grief to Sansa. It wouldn’t help anyone. “I can’t stand that wailing.” She gave Sansa a fragile little smile, and squeezed softly in her hand. “Listen my sweetling. I have not much time left. Tell Petyr – tell him not to be sad for me. I am leaving this place for a better one. I am going to see my grandchildren again. When I shut my eyes, I can almost see them, standing there in the rose gardens, waiting for me…”

“Olenna, no. Please.” Sansa sobbed, covering her mouth with a trembling hand.

“Promise you will take care of him, after I am gone. Petyr was put in my charge after I was whole again. I did as much as I could to guide him. Please promise that you will help him. Help him find his way out so he too can return home.”

“I promise.” Sansa whispered. Olenna didn’t even have to ask. She would do anything to help him. She would do anything for Petyr, no matter what.

“There is a tin can, next to the rum in the – the kitchen sink cabinet. Find it. There are do-documents inside. My last will and testament. I don’t own much, but this flat, it is mine. Petyr wouldn’t be able to afford to – to stay, after I am gone. No-one else will take him in. I don’t want him to be homeless again. So I’ve put the flat on h-his name.” She squeezed harder in Sansa’s hand. “Promise you will stay. Stay and look after him. That silly boy needs someone. He can’t do this on his own.”

Sansa had told so many lies already, she didn’t think that one last lie to a dying woman to help her find peace in her final moments would hurt her that much anymore. “I will stay. I promise.”

“Thank you.” Olenna sighed, closing her eyes. “I was so worried about him, after I found out from Varys…but now, I can finally rest. Now, I can see my family again…without any regrets…” She let out a deep sigh. “Be brave my dear child, be brave.”

“Olenna.” Sansa whispered, after a long silence.

The queen of Thorns spoke no more.

 

 

_TBC_

**NOTES:** I am sorry for killing off the queen of Thorns. I liked the feisty old lady but she had to _GO_ because somewhere in my twisted little head there was a plot (of some kind). _Anyway._ So Sansa has a plan (that probably is not such a good idea)….Brilliant! Let’s go with it (and head for disaster)! **Next chapter is up this Sunday (22 nd of October). **After that, there will only be 1 chapter left to go.

See you this Sunday! H.

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

 **NOTES:** Suggested music tracks

[I found](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PbSZhGONRBg)

For parts 2 and 3

Someone also made a fantastic fanvid with it that made me melt.

[Warning sign](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=krzSUu-pEew)

[Love is blindness](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZWir6wUkPtw)

For parts 2 and 3 and 4

1.

Petyr came home well before the ambulance arrived. With his shirt drenched in dark patches of sweat under his armpits and on his chest, he came storming in through the hallway, a plastic bag with prescription pills dangling from his hands. “I am back misses Tyrell! I got your pills! I finally got them! I am sorry it took so long!”

He froze when he saw Sansa sitting down on the ground next to her, still holding on to her hand. Sansa’s pale face was awash with tears.

“Misses Tyrell.” Petyr repeated, his voice suddenly small, and scared. “I got your pills.”

Her eyes were closed, and he noticed how still she was, not responding to his incoherent rambling, not telling him to shut up and reassuring him that it was going to be all right, as she usually would.

_I’m fine now Petyr. I don’t need the pills anymore. The pain has completely gone away. You don’t need to worry about me, you silly boy._

“Petyr.” Sansa whispered, looking up at him. “I am very sorry. Misses Tyrell…she-she died.”

She wanted to comfort him. She reached out her hand to take hold of his, but he just stood there, frozen, not responding, his hands clutching onto the plastic bag, twisting it between his fingers.

“Petyr? Where are you doing?” She asked, when he suddenly swirled around and ran back into the hallway.

“I am going to get her a glass of water.” He told her as he rushed into the kitchen. “She needs to take her pills. She can’t take them without it. She doesn’t like the taste.”

“Petyr?” Sansa called after him, her voice broken. “Did you hear what I just said?”

He returned with a glass of tapwater, shaking his head fervently, stubbornly.

“She just needs to take her pills and then she will be fine again. It is how it always goes, you know, she gets upset because of some stupid, moronic thing that I have done, and I run down to get her pills, and by the time I get back she’s smiling and talking and sometimes still shouting at me, but…She always gets better Sansa. She is always there.” He dropped down on his knees beside her and took the bottle out. His hands were trembling and he struggled to open it, before he finally managed to shake a handful of tablets into his palm.

“Petyr, you’re in shock. Stop this. It’s not going to help.” Sansa said, trying to get hold of him, but he brushed her hand away and continued to try to put the little white tablets into Olenna’s mouth. His hands were shaking so badly now that when he picked up the glass of water to put it to her lips, he was spilling water all over the place.

“She can’t be gone Sansa.” He whispered. “She is the only one who is ever kind to me before you came. She is always here for me. She is the only one who ever cared.” His voice all choked up, he sounded and looked so small and so full of grief, that it broke her heart to see him like this.

“Please stop this.“ She tried.

“Misses Tyrell, please don’t leave…” He pleaded, staring down at misses Tyrell’s still and quiet face. “Please…I don’t want to be on my own again.” He sobbed, finally breaking down in tears. The pills fell from his hand and dropped beside her. The glass of water spilled all over floor, staining the carpet wet.

Sansa wanted to tell him not to be sad. She wanted to let him know that misses Tyrell was now in a better place, just like Olenna had asked her to do. But she just couldn’t find the strength. Instead, she took Petyr in her arms and held him in a tight embrace, feeling every choked up cry and stifled sob that rippled through his body. 

 

2.

The ambulance finally arrived, 6 hours later, to take misses Tyrell’s body out of the flat. Sansa took charge, trying to spare Petyr as much distress and anguish as possible. She talked to the ambulance brothers, told them what she thought had happened, and asked in a bitter tone why it took so bloody long for them to arrive.

“I am sorry miss. We tried to get here as fast as we could, but the address you gave us, it didn’t show up on the map or the sat nav.” They explained to her. “We spent the whole night driving around London asking people directions. It is actually a bloody miracle that we got here in the end.”

They placed Olenna’s body on a stretcher and bound a leather strap around her waist to keep her in place while they moved her away. When they carried her out of the flat, Petyr followed them outside, gazing down at Olenna while trying to grab on to her hand.

“Son, you really should get out of the way now. We can’t get to the stairs with you standing there.” One of the ambulance brothers explained to him. Petyr didn’t move an inch. He held on to misses Tyrell’s hand, his eyes not looking up at anyone.

“Miss? Could you please help with this? He’s blocking our way.” The brother asked. Sansa was just about to go to Petyr when the door of the neighbouring flat opened and Jaime Lannister stepped out into the corridor.

“What’s going on here?” Jaime asked, furrowing his brows when he noticed the stretcher. “My God, did Olenna have an accident?”

“I am afraid so.” The ambulance brother replied. “We came too late. Misses Tyrell has already passed away when we arrived. We are taking her body to the morgue.”

“Oh this is absolutely dreadful.” Jamie muttered, glancing over at Petyr and Sansa. “How did this happen?”

“She fell.” Sansa told him, not wanting him to speak with Petyr, knowing how terrified he was of him and his sister, and remembering how awful they had treated him only days before. “She succumbed to a hemorrhage in her brain.”

Cercei appeared next to Jaime in the doorway, leaning against the doorpost with a glass of red in her hand. She had overheard everything. “Are you sure? It has nothing to do with that psycho she took into her home?” She said, glaring at Petyr.

“Sis, I told you not to come out.” Jaime said to her, taking her glass away. “I will deal with it. Go back inside.”

Cercei ignored him. “Hey, moron!” She shouted at Petyr, her words slurred a little. She was obviously very drunk. “Now that that old Tyrell witch is finally dead, I assume that you are going to move soon? When are you going back to the streets, like the human garbage that you are?” She laughed giddily. “Good _fucking_ riddance! That’s what you deserve after trying to burn our flat down. That’s what you get for murdering my little boy’s cat!”

“Cercei.” Jaime tried. “I told you so many times, Bealish doesn’t do those things on purpose. Stop yelling at him like that. Can’t you see he is grieving?”

“Petyr is not going to move. He is not going anywhere.” Sansa told her, anger rising like bile from her stomach. _How dare she talk to him like this, right after what had happened? Didn’t that bitch queen have a heart?_

“How is that?” Cercei asked, gazing at Sansa with a look as if she was just waiting for the right opportunity to claw her eyes out.

“He is staying here. Olenna left him her flat. It’s his now.” Sansa told her, only to spite her. “He can stay as long he wants.” _And you can do shit about it._

“Did she. That stupid demented old cow.” Cercei hissed, turning around to get back inside. “Now I _am_ sure that the little lunatic has murdered her to get his hands on the flat.” She said to Jamie, who hurried to shut the front door behind her so the others didn’t have to endure her mad rambles any longer.

“I am telling you Jaime. He murdered her. Just like he murdered our Geoffrey!”

“Please Cercei, not again…”

“Don’t listen to her Petyr.” Sansa told him. “She is an insane drunk who deserves every horrible thing that has ever happened to her. Whatever comes out of her mouth is not worth remembering.” She took his hand away from misses Tyrell’s and guided him to the side so the brothers could finally carry the stretcher down to the waiting ambulance.

“Petyr?” She called him again, afraid that he was somehow affected by Cercei Lannister’s harsh words. “Do you hear me?”

He nodded slowly, keeping his eyes down. “She is right, you know.” He muttered softly. “I can’t stay. I can’t afford to live here. Not now misses Tyrell is gone.”

“No, didn't you hear me? Misses Tyrell left you her flat. She really did.”

“So…You were not just lying to misses Lannister to get her to shut up?”

It was a response that she had not expected to come from him. Sansa’s heart skipped a beat when hope was rekindled that he might not be so damaged and broken as he appeared, that perhaps, some of his intellect was finally returning to him.

_If she could regain all of her memories of her past life, just by being with him again, why couldn’t the same thing be happing to Petyr?_

“No I wasn’t lying to Cercei Lannister.” Sansa told him with a sad smile. “Olenna told me she has written a will and that the flat has been left to you. You’re not homeless.”

Petyr finally looked up at her, swallowing in a deep ragged breath. “Really? So we can live here?” He gasped. “They won’t kick us out? We can really live here together?”

“Yes.” Sansa told him, feeling a rope tightening around her heart when she heard him say the words _here_ , and _we,_ and _us,_ and _together_.

“Oh that is so kind of misses Tyrell!” He exclaimed, clearly relieved and so incredibly grateful. “I can’t believe she did this for us. I wish I could thank her…I wish she was still here so I could say something nice to her…” Petyr paused, blinking fervently to keep his tears from falling. “Actually, I just want her to be here again…and not dead…”

Sansa draped her arm around his shoulders to comfort him before taking him back inside.

“Petyr.” She tried, after they both sat down next to each other on the couch in the living room. “I need to tell you something. I know that now is perhaps a horrible time, but it’s very important, and I want you to listen to me.” She paused.

When she stared into those grey-blue eyes that seemed so lost and frightened at the moment, she wondered if this was the right thing to do.

 _Please promise me my dear that you will stay and take care of him._ She heard Olenna speak to her in her mind. _Grant him time. Let him find his own way to redemption. It is the only path that is true._   

But then she reached for the little mocking bird pin in her pocket, and she reminded herself of what she truly wanted for them both.

“I want to go home Petyr.” Sansa said, uttering it out in one burdened breath. “I want you to come with me. We can go and leave King’s Landing together. You don’t have to stay here all on your own in this horrible place. There is no reason now why you should.”

“But…Cat –“

“-Is never going to come back for you.” Her heart sank when she saw the change of expression on his face, how much the truth hurt him, now that it was spoken aloud, but she pushed on. He  _had to realize this. He can’t keep deluding himself. He can’t keep making excuses for not wanting to leave._ “If she wanted to, if she really cared for you, she would have returned many years ago. Do you understand Petyr? You shouldn’t waste your heart waiting for – for something that will never be, a ghost of the past, an illusion.” She paused, trying to catch his eyes as he stared down at his own hands, fumbling with the ends of sleeves. “You don’t need to wait for someone who is so undeserving of your love. Not when there is someone who truly loves you, and wants to spend the rest of her life with you.”

She took his hand and brought out the mocking bird pin, which she placed in the palm of his hand.

He finally gazed back up at her slowly, hesitantly.

“Do you do know what this is?” She asked with hope burning in her heart. “Do you remember this?”

“It’s a mocking bird.” He said, after a long silence. He traced with his fingertips over the contours of the little silver pin. “It’s beautiful.” He told her, and despite his grief, his lips produced sad little smile. “I have never seen something so beautiful before Sansa.”

“It’s a gift.” She said, keeping up a brave smile, although it hurt her deeply that he didn’t seem to recognize the clear similarity with his own sigil. “It’s also represents a promise, from me to you.” She folded her own hand around his, wrapping the little bird in the heart of their embrace.

“I promise you that I will take you away from here.” She said with all the sincerity that was in her heart. “I want you to come home with me. Let me take you there. Let me take care of you, like you once took care of me.”

She took the silver adornment and pinned it on his shirt, right under his collar, at the exact spot where he used to place it himself, straight above his heart.

“Sansa…”

“Please say yes.” Sansa whispered, noticing the confusion in his eyes. She so much wanted him to say yes and for her plan to succeed, but it was obvious that Petyr was nervous and in doubt.

“Are you sure I can leave, just like that? Are you sure that I can stay with you? Can I really do that?” He asked, looking hopeful, but also so very frightened, sensing that something was wrong about her offer. “I’ve never lived outside of King’s Landing before. Not on my own.”

“You’re not on your own anymore. You have me.” She traced the healing bruises on his cheek with her fingertips, reminding herself why she was wanted this for him. “Listen. I went out this morning to talk to Melisandre. She said, she will help you. Tomorrow, we will go to see her. We will go together. She will get you out of this horrible place, I promise.”

“I don’t know.” He kept fumbling with the ends of his sleeves. “I don’t know if we should.”

“I thought you liked her and trust her. What are you still so afraid of?”

“It just doesn’t feel right. It really doesn’t. Misses Tyrell left her flat to me. I think she wanted me to stay. Please, can’t we just both stay here and be together?” He begged.

“Petyr, if you stay, I _can’t_ be with you.” Sansa told him, trying to persuade him to say yes, but being also so very brutally close to being honest to herself that it scared her. “Please, say that you will come with me.”

“Sansa, I –“

“ _I love you Petyr_.” She whispered, her heart pouring out to him. “I _don’t_ want to leave you behind. Please trust me, I am making the right choice here. Please say yes.”

 _I love you._ Those three words coming from her were all he had ever longed to hear, in this life and in his past. Once, he would have done anything to hear them pass her lips. He would have begged and stolen for her. He would have murdered and killed for her. He would have burnt down whole kingdoms to ashes for her. He would have done everything in his power to give her everything she so rightfully deserved to be worthy of those three silly little words.

So now that they have been finally spoken aloud, how could he ever tell her no?

“Yes.” He finally agreed. “I trust you. I will come with you to see misses Melisandre.”

The hopeful, radiant smile that she gave him in return before she kissed him on his lips lifted some of the heavy weight that he felt in his heart. It did little though, to ease the worry that kept eating at him in the back of his mind.  

 

3.

They were lying in each other’s arms in Petyr’s lower bunk, soft warm bodies close together, holding on to each other like two frightened, desperate lovers, each too full of want and with too much to lose to let the other go.

Sansa was worried about what the next day would bring. She had difficulty to catch sleep, but Petyr, tired of all the heartache and stress he had endured over the last few days, and finally feeling protected and comforted in her arms, drifted off into a peaceful slumber, just after midnight.

Sansa quietly watched him sleep. He looked and was much younger than she remembered him, 30-35 maybe. She studied the first fine lines that had started to appear around his eyes, and the mad crow’s-nest of hair that carried but a few grey hairs, lost between his curly dark locks. It was so very different from his neat well-groomed haircut with the silver streaks around his temples that he used to have when she first met him.

She had been such a naïve young girl, barely 15 years of age, always sheltered and protected by her family in the north, and knowing nothing of the real world. He had been 20 years her senior, and had seen and survived wars and countless of deadly intrigues, and had learned to thrive amid all the schemers and players of the capital. He had so much to teach her. Without him, she would not have survived. Now the tables were turned. It was her turn to look after him now, teaching him all that she knew. Faced with the daunting task, she wrapped her arms tighter around his waist, and breathed in his warm familiar scent while she listened to the slow beating of his heart. She didn’t know how Petyr would cope in her world. She didn’t know how her family would react to him. But she was certain that with time, patience, and love, she would eventually be able to bring back his memories and return him to his old self. She would protect him and guide him.

She would not fail him.

The light had almost returned to the horizon, when Sansa woke up from a light slumber, stirred awake by a strange sound coming from the kitchen. Thinking that it could be a mouse or a rat, for both she had frequently seen scuttling around in the apartment, she climbed out of bed, leaving Petyr to sleep while she went to take a look.  

 

4.

It was indeed a large rat, but not the kind she would have much more preferred.

“Ah, I see you’re up.” Ramsay Bolton told her with a smile that caused her skin to crawl. “I didn’t wake you now, did I?”

Sansa’s felt her heart sink all the way down to the pit of her stomach. _This can’t be true._ She thought. _She must be having a nightmare._ Then she felt the cold breeze that entered via the large breach in the kitchen window and almost stepped on the broken glass shards lying on the kitchen floor around her feet. She realized with a jolt to her heart that it wasn’t just a bad dream. “What are you doing here?” She asked, her voice barely able to hide her shock and revulsion.

“You expect me to be somewhere else?” He was ripping up a stack of pages and crumbling them up before feeding them to the lit gaspit fire of the cooking stove. “Oh wait.” He responded to the horrified expression on Sansa’s face. “You mean because of what happened last night?”

“You were arrested. You were supposed to be behind bars.”

“Well, _someone_ forgot to show up at the police station this morning.” Ramsay said, reminding her what Petyr and she had meant to do in order to file the charges. “Long story short, Tywin had to let me go. You should have seen him, he was absolutely furious!” Ramsay laughed. “Then I heard from him that my old gran died.”

“Tywin Lannister told you?”

“Oh yeah. I think he genuinely though that telling me would somehow stop me from laughing in his face, that it would bring me to my senses or something, but it just cheered me up even more.” He grinned and ripped up the last page before tossing it into the burning fire, swiping his hands. “I’ve never like that demented old bitch. There was no one in the world I would see rather gone.”

“What is that? What are you burning?”

“Her testament of course.” Ramsay explained to her in matter of fact voice. “Or didn’t you know that she had one? She kept it in the kitchen sink cabinet, in a little tin box, right next to her favourite bottle of rum. Did you also know I used to be on it? Right before that idiot moved in and ruined everything. Now she is dead, I thought I might pop over and check if it was still there.” He held up the last shredded page that was already set alight like a torch. “Turns out it was. Pity my name was no longer on it.”

“You burnt it. Why did you do that? You’re not going to get the flat anyway!”

“And neither is poor little Petyr now, so that’s all right. You have never seen him like that, but I think being homeless suits him. Also, it would give us more quality time to spend together, when he no longer has a place to hide.” When he tossed the last page back on the burning pile, he added with a frown; “You know, I think you might actually be wrong. I don’t think Olenna has more family left in King’s Landing. I think I am her closest next of kin here.” That disgusting grin again, spreading like a snail over his lips. “So I might even still get the place. Family blood is thicker than water and all that, al least if those other mystery grandchildren of hers don’t show up to claim it.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Sansa told him, shaking her head, anger waxing with her fear. “Petyr is not going to stay here. You can get your hands on your lousy flat, but you will won’t get the chance to torment him any longer.”

“Oh yeah? And why is that?” Ramsay walked over to her, eyes wide and mocking.

“Because he’s going to leave with me.” She was walking backwards, away from him, her frightened heart beating rapidly, but her eyes still blazing with defiance. “I am taking him away from King’s Landing.”

She had barely finished her sentence when Ramsay wrapped his hand around her throat. She was shoved backwards and knocked into one of the kitchen chairs, almost falling over. “No one leaves King’s Landing.” Ramsay scoffed with a bitter undertone of resentment in his voice, while he tightened his grip. “Especially you two. I still have to repay you for ratting me out to Tywin Lannister, you little cunt.”

She cried out when he pushed her down on to the floor, the broken glass cutting her through the thin fabric of her nightgown when his heaving chest pressed down hard against her. “Bealish told Tywin a little lie to get me locked up. You taught him that. He said I was going to rape you. Maybe I should.” He pulled up her gown and reached for her knickers. “Maybe I should fuck his dear lady friend to teach him to keep his stupid lying mouth shut.”

She wanted to scream, but he pressed his hand onto her lips, smothering her cries.

She should just let him hurt her.

She knew Ramsay Bolton. When he was angry, when in his twisted sadistic little mind he somehow thought that he had been wronged and his vindictive little heart was full of reprisal and rage, she knew she shouldn’t provoke him any further. If she did, he would only become so much worse. But she had done all that already. When she was left at his mercy at Winterfell, she had dreaded him. She had suffered by his hands. She had also survived him and watched him die screaming while being devoured by his own hounds. She could not be that girl who just endured any longer.

She jerked her knee viciously into his groin and bit down on his hand, so hard that she tasted his blood.

Ramsay howled, grasping his private parts. He let go of her just long enough for her to get on all fours and crawl away from him, pieces of glass slashing open the palms of her hand and her knees. She screamed when Ramsay pushed her down again, this time climbing on top of her and straddling her to keep her under his control.

“How dare you!” He hissed, blinded by his rage, he grabbed her by her throat again, fat fingers digging into her flesh till it bruised. “Say you’re sorry!” He muttered, spittle flying from his lips. Sansa couldn’t. She couldn’t breathe. He was throttling her windpipe, closing it shut till only the tiniest, wheezing gasps of air could pass through to her lungs. Still Ramsay didn’t notice, or didn’t care, and kept screaming down at her like a crazed maniac. “I said, say you’re sorry!”

He was silenced abruptly when a bottle of liquid was smashed against the side of his skull.

Sansa was only half-aware that Ramsay was screaming now because of his own agony. His hands lifted from her throat and she could finally breathe in, wheezing and coughing to get the much-needed air fed into her deprived lungs. She turned around and saw Petyr standing in the kitchen. The broken bottle neck was still in his trembling hand as he backed away from Ramsay who was nursing the cut on the side of his head. He was bleeding viciously, but not enough to incapacitate him or stop him from doing something horrible.

“Petyr, watch out for him!”

“Look who has come to rescue his little girl friend!” Ramsay grinned, his eyes shining with a mad calmness that always came before he went completely sadistic and violent. “Come on then Petyr.” His smiled widened as he spread his arms wide in provocation. “What are you waiting for, you useless half-wit!?”

“Petyr! Run away!” Sansa begged. “You can’t fight him. He will hurt you! Run away and get help, please!”

But Petyr didn’t do any of those things. He just stood there, glaring at Ramsay, his eyes filled with dread…and anger. She had never seen him angry before. Not here. Not in this life. But something had been awakened in him, something that reminded him that enough was enough. It told him that he couldn’t keep running away from his troubles, because they always came back to hurt him and the ones he cared for the most.

He lifted whatever was left of the bottle up to his tormentor’s eyes. “Do you know what this is?” He asked Ramsay, his voice low, and calm, and _threatening_. In fact, he sounded so much like his old self that it cut right into Sansa’s heart.

Ramsay looked back at him as if the poor idiot had just completely lost it. “No Petyr.” He grinned, knowing that if the little lunatic would attack him with the broken bottle, he could easily take it from him and stab it where ever it would bleed the most. _The jugular would be nice._ “What is it?”

“It’s 65% navy strength rum.” Petyr replied. His lips curled into a faint mocking smile. “Last time I used it to pour it over misses Tyrell’s Christmas pudding, I almost burnt the entire flat down.”

He picked up the still burning scraps of paper left on the cooker with the broken end of the bottle, and in one smooth swoop, flung it at Ramsay. As soon the burning scraps hit his rum soaked clothes, Ramsay was set ablaze. Uttering a terrifying scream from which it was difficult to distinguish if it was of pain, or shock, or rage, Ramsay charged at Petyr. Before he got his hands on him, Petyr had stepped aside and pushed him against the gas cooker. Ramsay landed with his hands on the still burning gas pit. Crying out in agony, he ran to the sink with his sleeves on fire. He wanted to get to the tap to turn it on, but in the dreadful panic he was in, he tripped over his own feet, and tore at the kitchen curtains as he went down.

Petyr just watched him silently as Ramsay rolled over the floor, burning like a Guy Fawkes straw doll in a bonfire, the fabric and the glass shards melting onto his back, while the skin on his hands crisped up like bacon. Petyr looked like he was shock. It was as if he wasn’t even aware or cared where he was. He had completely blocked out the terrifying sight, sounds, and smells around him.

But Sansa was more than aware of what was happening. The entire kitchen was turning into a burning inferno. Not only the curtains, but the entire wooden floor was on fire, bright yellow flames licking up high from the spilled pools of rum that Ramsay had ignited with his wild turnings.

“Petyr!” She called, getting up and rushing over to grab hold of his arm. “We have to get out of here! Petyr!”

He looked at her, his expression still emotionless and his eyes dazed, but when she shook his arm again he blinked. Gleams of alertness returned. “Sansa.” He said to her, still speaking softly. “Did he hurt you?”

“No Petyr! Please, come with me! We have to get out before this whole place burns down.”

She grabbed his hand and pulled him behind her. She didn’t want to go pass Ramsay, who was now rolling over the floor right in front of the kitchen entrance, screaming in agony. Instead, she led Petyr to the broken window, climbed on top of the kitchen counter and smashed in the rest of the glass that was still stuck to the frame with her elbows. When she had safely climbed out into the open corridor she turned back for Petyr. He was staring over his shoulders at Ramsay Bolton, once again lost in a trance.

“Petyr! Come!” She stretched out her hand, urging him to follow. She breathed a sigh of relief when he took it, and she was able to pull him through to the other side.

 

5.

Sansa had thought that it would end differently. She had thought that after the fire brigade finally came to put out the fire in what was left of Olenna’s flat and she and Petyr were escorted into a police car away from his angry neighbours and the mad accusations of Cercei Lannister, that somehow, everything still would turn out all right.

It didn’t.

She was locked up in a separate room away from Petyr. She was asked urgently to stop knocking on the door when she pleaded to get out and to _sit down_ , or they will file charges against her for being so difficult. After she had finally complied, she was then told by a kind but stern lady officer that her friend was all right, but obviously in shock, and needed to calm down on his own in a separate room to be able to give a reliable testimony.

Sansa leaned on her elbows over the table top, and buried her face in her hands. They have taken away her ID, her student bankcard and her phone. She couldn’t even call her dad to ask for help. She sucked in a deep desperate breath and begged herself to calm down.

 _Petyr didn’t do anything._ _It wasn’t his fault that the flat burnt down. It was Ramsay Bolton. He broke into Olenna’s flat and tried to rape and strangle me and Petyr only hurt him because he tried to stop him. He did nothing wrong._

Whenever they were ready and would send anyone in for her interrogation, she was just going tell them the truth. She was going to tell them everything. _They couldn’t do anything horrible to Petyr. They couldn’t charge him for this. It wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be fair._

Her heart leaped into her throat when the door finally swung open and she heard footsteps, approaching her from behind. She lifted her head, turned around, and gazed up, right into the eyes of her father.

“Dad?” She whispered, her voice small, and her resolve breaking apart by the very sight of him. She couldn’t believe that he was truly there.

“Oh my little angel.” Ned sighed. He rushed over to her and wrapped his strong arms around her in a tight embrace. “My little girl.” He caressed her long hair and rocked her slowly in his arms while she broke down in tears. “Where have you been all this time?” He told her in his gentle forgiving voice, kissing her on crown.

“Sansa, where have you been?”

 

 **NOTES:** Yes, _fuck_ , it’s Ned, and he probably wants his daughter back! And was that Petyr waking up while he barbequed Ramsay? Who the hell knows? *shrugs*.

Just kidding. **Final chapter is up next week Friday.** Have a nice weekend! H.

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

 **NOTES:** And it is Friday again! Here is the final chapter of Mock(ing)bird, and it’s a long and crazy one...

Suggested music tracks:

[Leave while I am not looking](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jh6IGyx8eEw)  


For parts 1- 3

[Let it go](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Doj6oPMd--s)

Parts 3 and 4

[Down](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IvWCvYPsiuM)

For part 5

 

1.

The way Tywin marched into the room and sat down at the table opposite to him, all stern and eyebrows furrowed in a burdened frown of utter dismay, did not bode well. But Petyr was not as good at reading people’s faces as he once was. He still believed that everything would turn out all right, just like Sansa had told him, when they drove in the back of the police car away from the estate.

He trusted her like no one else in the world.

“Mr. Lannister.” He tried, hesitantly, his heart trembling of dread but still so full of hope.

There was a long silence as Tywin continued to go through a file from which the content he had spread out over the table. When he was finished with one document, he put it aside and started on a new one, his pen always ready to circle and mark out some of the text on paper. “Yes Bealish.” He finally muttered, in a voice that sounded like an annoyed growl.

“Can I…perhaps…please see Sansa now.”

Tywin stopped with whatever he was doing and glared up at him. “You want to see the Stark girl?” He cocked an eyebrow. “You can’t. Not before we have finished interrogating her.”

“Will that still take very long?”

“Are you in a rush?” Tywin asked, the corners of his mouth twisting into a cynical grin. “Do you need to go anywhere?”

“No sir.” As often when dealing with Tywin Lannister, Petyr felt incredibly small and stared down at the handcuffs around his wrists. “I just wanted to know that she is all right.”

“She is fine. Considering she was almost burned alive in a kitchen fire.” He rearranged the documents and put all but one back into the file-map. “I don’t want to beat around the bush here, Bealish.” He told him sternly, folding his hands and resting them on the tabletop. “You do realize that you are in trouble, don’t you?”

Unfortunately, Petyr really didn’t know that he was. So he shook his head at the chief constable.

Tywin sighed deeply. _Of course he doesn’t. When, during my long time here dealing with Petyr Bealish, did he ever give me the impression that he understood anything that was going on around him?_

“My officers found you outside the flat together with that Stark girl, standing there, watching the whole thing burn down. The neighbours claim that you have started it. They say that you have tried to burn down Olenna’s flat before. If I have to believe my own daughter’s words, you have actually tried to kill everyone by setting fire to the entire block.”

“No mr. Lannister, that is not true!” Petyr replied, brought to a panic by Tywin’s sudden accusations. “I didn’t burn down misses Tyrell’s kitchen on purpose. Misses Tyrell had explained everything to misses Lannister and mister Baratheon and every body else. I was trying to cook and accidently set the kitchen towels on fire. It was just an accident.”

“Well, the others certainly have very different views about this matter. They claim you did it on purpose, either because you were holding a grudge against them, or because you’re mentally unstable.”

“No, no it really was an accident! I didn’t do it on purpose. I wasn’t angry with anyone. I didn’t want to harm anyone. I knew what I did was wrong. I told them that I was really sorry. Misses Tyrell told me afterwards to never use the cooker again, and I listened. I really did. Please mr. Lannister, you have to believe me.”

“What about this time then? I know that Olenna died yesterday. Maybe you were very upset about that? Hmm? Perhaps you had a nervous breakdown and you unfortunately reverted to old habits? Is that what happened?”

“No!” Petyr blurted out, feeling his heart rattle inside his chest like a frightened rabbit that was chased around by hounds. “It was Ramsay. He was in our flat. He was hurting Sansa. He turned the cooker on.”

“Ramsay Bolton was there?”

Petyr nodded feverishly, eager to convince Tywin of his innocence. “I woke up because Sansa was screaming. I heard her screams coming from the kitchen so I ran in there. She was lying on the floor with Ramsay holding her down with his hands around her throat. He was - he was really hurting her badly. She couldn’t breathe. I wanted to stop him so I – I took misses Tyrell’s bottle of rum from the cabinet, and – and I-I threw it at him.” Petyr’s voice became very quiet as he recalled what he had done. “I didn’t want to burn him!” He blurted out, getting confused by the horrible memories of scorching flesh and the sickening sweet smell of burnt skin. “I don’t know what happened. I truly don’t.” He confessed in a choked up voice.

“You set Ramsay on fire?”

Petyr nodded, his face ravaged with guilt. “One moment he was bleeding and I was backing away from him. The next his clothes were all burning. I just wanted him to let go of Sansa. I am sorry mr. Lannister. I really didn’t want to hurt him.”

“Petyr…” Tywin didn’t know how to say this, but decided that he might as well make it brief for the poor bewildered fool. “Ramsay Bolton was not in the flat. You and Sansa Stark were the only one there. There was no one else.”

The change of expression on Petyr’s face was difficult to read for Tywin. It was a strange consecutive mixture of remorse, fear, shock, and overwhelming confusion that he believed, only the truly deranged could produce.

“But…He was there…He really was. He-he broke the kitchen window to get in.” Petyr whispered, running his hands over his face, and tugging anxiously at one of his mad curls.

“The neighbours saw the Stark girl breaking the window to get away from the fire.”

“Yes. Yes we did that too.” Petyr nodded, very relieved to finally remember something that mr. Lannister could concur had really happened. “We climbed through the window to get out. We couldn’t go through the door. Ramsay was lying there, blocking our way. We couldn’t get past. He was still burning and-and screaming…” Petyr’s gaze drifted down to his hands fumbling at the chains of his cuffs. His eyes looked haunted by the memories.

Tywin had enough. “No-one saw Ramsay Bolton.” He told him in a stern voice. “The neighbours didn’t see him. My men certainly didn’t see him. He wasn’t there, Bealish.”

“He was. He really was there! He must have run out of the flat before the police came.”

“So Ramsay Bolton ran away from the crime scene, with his clothes still on fire.” Tywin mocked, his green eyes scrutinizing Petyr with growing exasperation, and perhaps also a touch of pity. “Petyr, you know me long enough to know that I don’t like to be fed horseshit.” Tywin rose slowly and slammed his hands down on the table, before leaning forward till he was towering above him. “Now, how much of your highly unbelievable story do you think I am willing to swallow down?”

“It is true. It’s all true. I didn’t lie to you mr. Lannister. I really didn’t.” Petyr tried, his voice trembling.

Tywin shut his eyes and breathed in deep, fighting back the urge to pick up this little lunatic from his chair and shake some sense into him. _As if that would ever help._ Somehow, he managed to sit back down and regain his controlled posture. He turned the piece of paper that had been lying in front of him around and pushed it in Petyr’s direction. “Do you know what this is?” He asked with a sigh, not expecting much. He tapped with his index finger on the heading.

Petyr tried very hard to read the text on the page, but he was so stressed that the letters kept being jumbling up inside his head and he couldn’t process any of it. Defeated and scared, he shook his head.

“It’s a petition, signed by 4 of your neighbours. My daughter and son, Cercei and Jaime Lannister, and Stannis and Selyse Baratheon. They want me to do something about you. They claim that you are mentally unstable, a danger to them and to yourself. They request, in the name of public safety, that you will be taken into professional care, so they will be rid of you. Do you understand me Bealish? They want me to put you away.”

“Put me a-away…You mean like…in a care home?” A new round of panic and fear flashed in Petyr’s grey-blue eyes. “They want to send me back in there again? I can’t go back there. Please mr. Lannister! Don’t send me there. I don’t want to go back. Besides, I am bit too old for a care home. They said so themselves before they kicked me out.”

“You’re not going to a youth care home, Bealish.” Tywin told him, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at him. “You’re going to be sent to a closed psychiatric hospital where they can monitor your dangerous behaviour and give you proper treatment.”

This, Petyr did understand, and he was immediately frightened. “But…I didn’t do anything.”

“Petyr, listen to me –“

“Why would they do that…” He muttered, fear squeezing tight his throat. “Why do they want to put me away? I didn’t do _anything_.”

“Calm down.”

“No, no, no. I don’t want to calm down!” Petyr jumped up from his chair, his body trembling like a nervous wired up coil. “Please mr. Lannister, don’t send me there. I know I am not clever, and I am a complete idiot, and I do all kind of stupid things that make people angry with me all the time, but I don’t mean to…I really don’t want to hurt anyone…I am not mad mr. Lannister! I am not crazy! Please don’t put me away!”

“Sit back down, Bealish.” Tywin sighed, not knowing what to do with this utterly sicking pathetic display.

“Sansa, Please let me talk to Sansa!” Petyr insisted. “Please talk to her. She knows how to talk to people. I am stupid, and I keep saying stuff that gets me into trouble, but she is clever, she always knows the right thing to say. Talk you to her, please.”

“I already did. She is as much lost in her delusions as you are, talking all kinds of gibberish about past lives and getting out of purgatory. Before that, she tried to feed me the same horseshit story about Ramsay setting fire to the flat. It’s a good thing that her father showed up just in time to bring her to her senses. He came to the police station to look for his missing daughter this morning.”

“S-sansa’s father is h-here?”

“Yes. Eddard Stark from Winterfell farm, all the way across the Scottish border. He called the bank and was able to track down where she had last withdrawn cash from an ATM to find her. It’s a long way to run from home for such a young girl.” Tywin folded his hands and glared at Petyr. “You know, he has a very interesting story of his own about what happened. He told me that you have abducted his daughter from university, brought her here to London and King’s Landing, and has brainwashed or threatened her to make her steal money for you from her own family. He was so convinced about it that he wanted to file charges against you.”

Petyr was stunned. “I didn’t…I didn’t do that. Why would Sansa’s father say anything like that? She was homeless. I just wanted to help. I didn’t kidnap her, or threaten her, or hurt her in anyway. I would never do that to Sansa.”

“Sansa Stark called her father yesterday, asking him to transfer 5000 pounds to her account. We could confirm that the money was withdrawn from an ATM near your flat shortly after that. When she was on the phone with Eddard Stark, she told him that she had met someone in the capital, and that she was in great trouble and needed the money urgently and desperately. Does that not sound familiar to you in anyway?”

No no! I don’t know anything about that! She didn’t tell me. I didn’t even know she called her father. Honestly mr. Lannister, I wouldn’t do any of those horrible things! I would never harm Sansa or use or take advantage of her in any way. I swear. Please believe me.”

“I do believe you, Bealish.” Tywin said with another sigh. “I have known you for quite some time and it would truly astonish me if you, in your current condition, would ever have the heart to even be able to come up with such a plan, let alone carry it out. Mr. Stark’s kidnapping charges are completely ludicrous, but unfortunately that is only my opinion. If the case is filed and lands on the desk of one of my seniors at the head departments of Scotland Yard, they will not draw such favourable opinion of you by only reading through your files, I am afraid. So, I talked to Sansa’s father, and have persuaded him to drop these charges against you.”

“Oh! Thank you mr. Lannister!” Petyr breathed out in relief, so very grateful that Tywin had helped him out of this horrible mess.

“On one condition.” Tywin further explained. “Mr. Stark was willing to not push charges, but he wants also to make sure that this, is never repeated again. Not with his own daughter, not with anyone elses. He is a soft-hearted, very forgiving man really. After Sansa convinced him that you have not harmed her in any way, he told me that he wants to see you get professional help. Coincidently, I knew just the exact way how he could help you.”

“ _Help_ me?” Petyr repeated in a small, frightened voice, sensing that things were going horribly wrong again.

Tywin showed him the document again and pointed out the row of signatures. “A petition for involuntary commitment needs to be filed by at least 5 members of the general public. Mr Stark just put the last missing signature under the document, sealing its legality. All it still requires now is the signature of a qualified civic agent with authority.” Tywin told him, while he picked up his own pen.

“No, no, no, no! Please don’t.” Petyr begged. He jumped out of his chair again and reached out with his cuffed hands to snatch the paper away, but Tywin’s severe glare stopped him. “You really think this is the only copy?” Tywin said, shaking his head of so much stupidity, before calmly finishing his signature and putting the document away.

“Why would Sansa’s father do this to me? He doesn’t even know me. I haven’t _done_ anything to him.” Pertyr muttered. “Please mr. Lannister.” He pleaded, his eyes getting moist. “I beg you, don’t lock me up. Please don’t. If you do, I won’t be able to see Sansa again.”

“You won’t be seeing her again anyway. Her father is going to take her back to the north, to Winterfell farm.”

It was as if something very fragile had just snapped inside Petyr’s mind. “But…She promised to take me with her.” He whispered. “We-we were going to leave King’s Landing together…”

“Bealish, don’t be such a fool. Listen to me, it is for the best. You wouldn’t last one day behind bars. Now you will be at least sent to a place where they can help you and take care of your… _illness_.” _Or whatever that madness is that you’re suffering from._

“Sansa, she was going to take care of me. We were going to take care of each other.”

“Sansa Stark is a naive young girl of 22.” Tywin reminded him. “She is still studying at university. She ran away from home because she has mental problems. She needs her parents to look after her. How is she ever going to take care of anyone else? And you, look at you! What are you ever going to do with a girl like that? Olenna is dead. Her flat has completely burnt down. You can’t go back to live there. So if Sansa Stark is going to stay here with you, what are your plans? Are you going to live with her out in the streets and both try begging for a living? Is that what you want for her? To keep her away from her family, where she is safe and belongs, to stay here with you in King’s Landing, and wallow with you in your chaotic misery?”

Petyr had become very quiet. For once in his tormented existence, he wished he could not understand a single word of what Tywin lannister had just said to him, but he did, and every word had fed his growing guilt and extinguished all hope that he had cherished in his trembling heart. He didn’t want Sansa to be unhappy. He didn’t want her to suffer like he did. She had a family, a future. He had none of that. He had nothing to offer her.

So…if he truly loved her, how could he be so selfish, and keep her here with him?

“Can-can I at least say goodbye to her?” Petyr pleaded, fearing that he was indeed losing his mind, and blinked his eyes as unnoticed tears started to roll down his face.

“Considering the circumstances, I think it’s better for all those involved to keep you two separated. You don’t want to create a spectacle of yourself for the whole police station to see, now you do, Bealish?” Tywin told him, observing Petyr’s open display of heartache and misery with much distaste. He punched the button of the intercom.

“Yes, I am finished with him.” He barked. “Take him to the car through the back door. Do hurry up! I can’t stomach all this wailing from a grown man!”

 

2.

Sansa sat on the bench outside in the corridor of the police station, fumbling with her fingers around her cup of tepid tea, while studying the dirty rims of her nails. She had just finished the interview with the nice police lady…or maybe she just seemed extra nice, because she came in _after_ she had been interrogated by Tywin Lannister for a full hour. Sansa must have answered more than 50 pages of questions by now. Most of them she couldn’t even imagine to be of any use to the case.

She was nervous and worried. She had told Tywin everything. She knew he didn’t believe her, but still he had let her go, giving her some hope. She had begged her father to speak to the chief constable to make sure that Petyr was going to be released too. The two had talked for a brief moment before Tywin disappeared back into one of the interrogation rooms.

She hadn’t seen Petyr yet.

She had told her dad that she wasn’t going to leave the station before they let him go too.

“Are you all right?” Her father came to sit down next to her. He gestured to the tepid cup of tea that he had given her earlier. “Do you want a new one?”

“No…Thanks.”

“You look very tired.”

She felt very tired. Like her head was stuffed with wool.

“You had a very rough night. You should get yourself some sleep. If you don’t want to leave the station, you could come with me. I will let you sleep in the car. It’s far more comfortable then nodding off here.”

“I am fine dad.”

“No, you’re not. You look exhausted.” Her father wrapped an arm around her and gave her a cuddle. “Come on. Let’s get you to the car, hey? You don’t know how long this is still going to take. Go take a quick nap.”

“No I want to stay here. Wait for Petyr.” Her head felt dizzy, her eyes were heavy, like they were covered in lead. She had the horrible feeling that this wasn’t right. “Dad…what…was there something in my tea?”

Ned sighed deeply. “I am sorry my dear. I just wanted to make sure that you stay calm.” Her father confessed, taking a small brown bottle of pills out of his coat pocket to show her. “Sleeping pills. The same ones that were prescribed to you by your doctor in Oxford. I went to talk to him after you went missing.”

“How could you do that…” Sansa tried to stand up, but the world was swirling in front of her eyes.

“Sansa, sit down, you shouldn’t try to go anywhere like this.” His father said, grabbing hold of her.

“I need to go see Petyr. I need to make sure he is all right.”

“You really shouldn’t be so concerned about that man. All right, so he didn’t kidnap or hurt you, but he is obviously very ill. For Christ sake, he set fire to his own flat with you two still in it! Even the chief constable told me that he is not well in his mind. Sansa, I know that you have a tender heart. I know you want to help him, but there is not much we can really do. We have to leave these sort of things to the professionals.”

Her father’s words brought a deep sense of dread into her heart. “Dad, what did you say to Tywin Lannister?” Sansa asked, fighting the effects of the pills.

“The chief constable asked me to sign a document. One that was needed to get him the sort of help that he obviously so clearly needs. You have to understand, I didn’t do this to punish him in any way. I did it to help him. You shouldn’t be worried. The chief constable assured me that he will be in good hands.”

“Oh no. No.” She blurted, covering her mouth in shock, and feeling her stomach turn. She pulled away from her father and ran into the corridor, just when Tywin Lannister stepped out of one of the closed rooms.

“Mr. Lannister, where is he?” Sansa asked, grabbing hold of his arms, her eyes wide, her voice pleading and anxious. “Please tell me. Where is Petyr?”

“Young lady, calm down. There is no need for such hysterical behaviour.” Tywin replied, having seen enough of this distasteful sort of madness to last him a decade. “He is no longer in the police station.”

“What do you mean? What have you done to him? Where did you take him?”

“He is going to a closed psychiatric ward. Somewhere where he can receive treatment for his many afflictions.”

Sansa shook her head fervently. She spun around, and ran down the corridor. Her heart felt like it had just been carved up with a knife. Her mind was unravelling, overtaken by a mad sort of blind desperation. _This was horrible! She has to find him. She has to find Petyr. She can’t let them do this to him._

“Petyr!” She cried out as she ran out into the courtyard, hoping that he would somehow still hear her. “Petyr!”

 

“Sansa?”

 

She spun around. It was Petyr’s voice, coming from the back of a parked police van that was just starting its engines. It had a tiny barred window at the back. When she came rushing towards it, she saw two white knuckled hands, grasping desperately onto the steel bars. “Sansa!” She let go of a ragged sigh when she saw Petyr’s face appearing behind the barred window. Two terrified grey-blue eyes pleaded with her in the darkness.

“They are going to put me away.” Petyr told her, his voice broken and scared. “Mr. Lannister says that they are going to lock me up in a hospital. Please don’t let them! Please help me. Please talk to them like you did with that lady in the city. I don’t want to be taken away. I don’t want to be locked up. I will never see you again!”

She reached out her hand to him. Before he could touch it, the van started to drive away, leaving her behind.

“Sansa!” Petyr yelled. She came running after him and saw how he tried to pull himself up against the bars to be able to see her.

She cried after him, running as fast as she could, but the distance between her and him was ever growing as the van drove out of the courtyard and started to pick up speed.

“Petyr! Don’t be scared. I will find you!” Sansa shouted after him. “I promise! Tell me where they are taking you!”

“I don’t know! They won’t tell me! Please Sansa! Don’t let them take me away! Please!”

“Petyr!” She stumbled over the edge of the pavement and fell, her knees and the palms of her hands scraping open over the rough road surface. She kept crying out his name. Her face was awash with tears while she watched him disappear out of her life, the tiny square of the back window becoming smaller and smaller, till it was completely gone from her sight.

Petyr felt like his heart was cut in two when he saw her disappear in the distance. “Sansa! Let me out!” He shouted, madly kicking the backdoors repeatedly. “Let me out! Let met out!” “Lemme out! Lemme out! Lemme out!” _Bang-bang-bang-bang_. He didn’t care what the officers in the front were shouting at him to make him stop. He kept kicking the doors like a man possessed, screaming her name like he had completely lost his mind. He didn’t even want to stop when the officers pulled over and came to the back to push him away from the backdoors. They pinned him down to the floor, his arms twisted and held painfully on his back while his belly was pressed against the hard steel grid.

“What have you done?” He told them. Bitter tears of anger and frustration came rolling down his flustered cheeks.

“Why didn’t you tell me where you were taking me? She can never find me like this! She wouldn’t know where to look! She wouldn’t know! Why are you doing this to me!? _Why_!?”

 

3.

Sansa woke up with the warm dry air of the car heater, blowing in her face.

“Sansa, are you awake?”

She batted her eyelids. Memories of all the recent horrors came rushing back to her consciousness. _Petyr. They have taken him away._ She turned her head and looked out of the window. Miles of farmland and green pastures rolled by as they drove over the highway.

“Where are you taking me?” Her voice was raw with grief and panic.

“Where do you think child.” Ned answered, looking at her while trying to keep an eye on the road. “I am taking you home. We’ve been driving for hours. We’re almost there.”

“What about Petyr? We just left them there!”

“I have told you, we can’t do much more for him now. He is being take care of by medical professionals. Stop getting so upset. It’s not good for you.”

“Stop the car.”

“Sansa –“

“I said stop the car!” She took hold of the wheel and swirled it to the left. The car swayed and nearly ended up smashing into the railing, if it wasn’t for Ned correcting its course in time. “Are you completely out of your mind!” Ned shouted at her as he struggled to lower speed and park the car at the roadside.

Sansa wasn’t listening. She tugged on her seatbelt as soon as the car came to a halt, pushed the door open and jumped out. As soon as her shoes hit the asphalt, she started running back over the side of the highway into the direction from where they came, fully ignoring the continuous honking of oncoming cars.

“Sansa!” Her father immediately got out of the car and sprinted after her.

“What are you doing?” Don’t you know how dangerous this is?” He yelled at her when he finally caught her in his arms. “What the heck is going on in that crazy little head of yours?”

“Petyr! I need to get back to him! I promised to get him out! You don’t know dad. You don’t know what happened to him! He can’t stay there with no-one to look after him. He won’t survive this, it will kill him.”

“Sansa…” Ned was desperate. He didn’t know what to do with his daughter anymore. Whatever that Petyr Bealish had done to her, she was like a woman possessed, mad with grief and completely unreceptive to reason.

“I love him. I am sorry dad, but I do. I know what he has done to you. I know what he has done to our family and I know shouldn’t, but I can’t…I can’t help it. I am really sorry.” She broke down, weeping bitter tears, and sank through her knees in front of him. Her father wrapped his arms around her. Sansa curled up in his embrace, feeling so very small and confused, but also incredibly grateful for his presence. Her heart was a bleeding mess, and hurt so much that she thought it might never heal again. “I know I have hurt my family.” She admitted. “I know I have hurt you. I am sorry. I didn’t want to. I was so scared. I thought I was going mad.” She finally admitted.

  
“My darling little girl.” Ned told her, caressing her hair, and gently touching her forehead with his lips. “There is nothing to be sorry about. I know that you’re not well, but you will be. I will take care of you. Your family, will take care of you. We are Starks of Winterfell. We look after each other.” He held her against his chest, cradling her like he used to do when she was younger, like she was his special little girl again. “We love you Sansa.” He pleaded, whispering into her ear. “Please come back home to us.”

“What about Petyr.” She whispered weakly, feeling all of her resolve crumble in her father’s caring embrace.

“When you are better, I will help you find another man.” He reassured her. “Someone who is brave, and gentle, and strong. Someone who is worthy of you, and can take care of you. Please forget about him child, for the sake of your sanity, and ours. Forget about Petyr Bealish.” Ned pleaded, still holding on to her.

His hand slipped inside his pockets and produced the little brown bottle with prescription pills. He held it in front of his daughter. She stared at it with a drained blank expression on her face, her eyes still filled with all consuming grief.

“Can you do this for me?” Ned asked her, his face anxious and pleading.

Sansa's poor heart ached full of longing when she thought of finally returning home, of being around those who cared and loved her. To finally feel safe, and protected, and sane again.

“Can you do that for your family Sansa?”

 

4.

They cuffed him to the railing so he wouldn’t try to trash the van again, and drove him to the very edge of King’s Landing. When the police car finally stopped and the back doors flung open, Petyr finally saw that they had arrived in front of a large red and yellow-brick Victorian building, sat in what seemed to be a green parkland. It was quiet, almost peaceful looking, except perhaps for the electrical wire fencing that ran around the entire premise. He was brought inside, and dragged through a confusing maze of corridors, going through a succession of closed gates, till he arrived in a tiled room where a black haired woman, tall and almost regal-like in bearing, was waiting for him.

“Bealish, Petyr.” She muttered as she went through the file that was left behind by the officers after they had uncuffed him. She went through a few more things before she looked up at him with her large hazel brown eyes. “Petyr, I am Ellaria Sand.”

Petyr, although terrified, didn’t want to be impolite. So he extended his hand for a friendly handshake, but Ellaria just glared at it as if she had just been offered a stick with a venomous snake curled around it.

“We don’t do that here.” She told him in an icy voice. “In fact, don’t ever try to touch me or any of my co-workers here at the Red Keep, or there will be trouble. If required, we will touch you.” She added with a mocking smile. “Believe me, you really don’t want that to happen to you.” Ellaria handed him a pile of new clothes. “You stink of sweat and fear. You need to take a shower, get disinfected. Go through that door. Strip and throw whatever you’re wearing out into the corridor. Clean yourself up. I will be waiting for you here. Don’t make it longer than 5 minutes or I will come in to drag you out.”

“Miss Sand?”

Ellaria Sand returned him a look that plainly said she was already bored with dealing with him.

“Is this where I am now? Is this place called the Red Keep?” He asked, wanting to store it in his mind so he could somehow let Sansa know where he was, if he ever had the chance.

Ellaria rested her hands on her waist. “It used to be called the Red Keep Asylum for the criminally insane, but it wasn’t publicity friendly enough, so it was changed to the Red Keep psychiatric Hospital. Whatever they call it, it doesn’t matter. We still work in the same way like we used to when dealing with crazy human garbage.” She flung a bar of soap at him. “Shower, 5 minutes.” She told him sternly, pointing at the door. “Don’t keep me waiting.” 

He did what he was told. The water was ice cold. The bar of soap smelled like the pink chemical power that misses Tyrell used to throw down the sink when the pipes were clogged, and stung his skin and eyes. He had no idea how long he was in there, because the scary lady outside had yelled at him to hand over everything. He didn’t have his wristwatch anymore to tell the time. After exactly 5 minutes, she really did storm in and dragged him out, pulling him painfully by his ear. 

“Get dressed.” She ordered. She folded her arms over her bosom and waited. Petyr, horrified that she just stood there and glared at him while he was still completely naked and dripping wet, didn’t even dare to ask her for a towel and just put the grey thin shirt and trousers on as quickly as possible.

“Follow me.” She ordered. They went down another corridor, passing a gate, which she opened by pushing in a number code. “I will be in charge of you for the coming months. You will be kept in the observation ward.” She told Petyr, walking ahead of him, all the way down to the last cell and opening the door. “This one is yours.”

Petyr entered a brightly lit room that was, even compared to his old bedroom, claustrophobically small. It was just large enough for him to lie down or pace 3 steps from side to side. The room was empty, except for a matrass and a blanket. The walls and the floor and even the door was covered in some sort of thin grey foam material that smelled of burned tires. A small black square with a shiny surface sat at the back.

“Oh what’s the matter now? You don’t like your room?” Allaria joked, noticing the horrified look on his face.

“W-why is there is no window in here.” Petyr mumbled, thinking that he wasn’t going to be able to watch his beloved birds again. He had left his binoculars in the burned out flat, but he had hoped at least to be able to see them when he looked outside.

“Allaria pointed out the black square in the wall. “There is one. So I can keep an eye on your crazy ass. Don’t try to mess this place up. The crazier you act, the longer I keep you here.”

She was about to leave when Petyr managed to pick up some of his shattered courage and called out to her.

“Miss Sand?”

Allaria twisted the corners of her mouth in dismay, but still turned around. “Yes what is it?” She sighed.

“Can I please have my stuff back?” Petyr asked shyly.

“Why? I gave you clean clothes. We will provide new ones when the ones you now wear needs cleaning.”

“I don’t mean my clothes.” Petyr replied, fumbling with the ends of his sleeves and looking down at his bare feet. Although, it would be nice if he got his jacket back. It was freezing in this place. “Can I please at least get back my mocking bird pin?”

“You are asking for your pin?”

Petyr nodded eagerly. “Yes miss Sand. It’s a little silver bird pin. It’s still stuck to my shirt. Can I please get it back?”

“You’re not allowed to hold on to your own stuff in here. We’ll give it back to you when you are finally allowed to leave. In the meantime, I will keep it in storage for you.”

“But…My – my friend gave that to me.” The thought of Sansa cut into his heart and brought desperate tears to his eyes. “I really would like to keep it with me. Please. I won’t be asking for anything else if you let me keep it.”

Ellaria was not much touched. “It’s a pin, with a sharp pointy end. You could use it to stab somebody. What do you think?” She told him, rolling her eyes.

She slammed the door shut and locked it from the outside.

 

3.

Petyr didn’t want to be difficult, he didn’t want to cause miss Sand such troubles, but he really wanted his pin back. So every time she showed up in his cell to give him his medication, he pressed his lips tightly together, refusing to take them in. He would do that till Ellaria had enough, grabbed him by his nose and pinched it shut, then waited for him to run out of air, and when he finally opened his mouth, desperate to breathe, she would shove the tablets down his throat. Most of the time, Petyr was able to spit them out again, making Ellaria absolutely livid.

“You do this to me again, and I will have you transferred to another unit.” Ellaria warned him, her large brown eyes blazing. “If you think you have it bad here, you should think again. There are far worse places to be locked up in the Red Keep, I assure you.”

But of course, Petyr wouldn’t listen.

A week later, he was indeed moved to another place. At first he didn’t even think it made that much difference. The room was as small, ugly, and empty as the first one. Only this one did not have a black window at the back. He also didn’t see miss Sand again. In fact, he did not see anyone during the first two days after he was transferred. When he tapped on the door to ask to be let out to go the bathroom, no-one showed up. After 3 excruciating long hours of waiting, he finally relieved his bladder in a corner, hoping fiercely that they would not be too angry with him for making a mess. They didn’t come to give him his pills. There was no one to bring him his food or even a glass of water. By the end of the second day his throat felt like dry parchment, swallowing was becoming painful, and he was constantly nauseous and dizzy.

When in the early morning of the third day, before the lights were switched back on, he was woken by the sound of his cell door opening, he desperately begged his caretaker for a drink. A glass of water was brought to his chapped lips. He swallowed it down eagerly, till his stomach objected and made him throw back up most of the liquid.

“Easy now.” Said a voice that sounded too familiar to him for comfort. “Don’t try to finish it all at once Petyr. You’re not a camel.”

Petyr’s heart froze when his painfully dry eyes adjusted to the dark, and finally saw who it was who had given him his drink. “Ramsay?” He managed to utter, his voice hoarse and cracked. Remembering how he had set him on fire in misses Tyrell’s kitchen, and how he had disappeared afterwards, Petyr thought he was looking at a ghost. “A-are you d-dead?”

“God, you are a real idiot, aren’t you?” Ramsay scoffed. He got up, and walked out to switch on the light in Petyr’s cell. “Do I look like a ghost to you?” He told him, walking back in. Petyr noticed that he was, beside the glass of water, holding something else his hand. It looked like a hammer.

“So…I didn’t kill you? I d-didn’t accidentally b-burn you?”

“Kill? No.” Ramsay grinned, crouching down to stare him right in the eyes. “Burn? Yes.” He folded up the sleeves of his blue hospital shirt and showed him the horrible long patch of red scars that ran all the way from his wrists up to his shoulders. “Accident? No.” He added in a low and threatening growl.

“I am sorry.” Petyr told him, shivering of fear. Even under these horrible circumstances, he was still genuinely remorseful for what he had done to Ramsay. “I didn’t want to hurt you, I really didn’t. I just wanted to stop you hurting Sansa.”

Ramsay’s face suddenly brightened up. “Speaking of the mad bitch.” He grinned, almost comically. “I looked into your file. Did you know her dad signed your commitment documents? So I guess we’re both fucked over by her, aren’t we?” He laughed, slapping on Petyr’s shoulder like he was sharing a joke with his best mate. “Didn’t expect to find you here in my ward so soon though. I though that that Sand viper woman was going to keep you in her unit for a while, if not forever. Boy, you must have really pissed her off.”

“ _Y-your_ ward?” Petyr asked, his heart now trembling inside his chest.

“Involuntary community service.” Ramsay said, pulling a face as if to say _Yeah I know, Can you believe this shit?_ “That Tansey bitch didn’t want to drop the charges.” Ramsay explained. “It was either this, or picking up trash and dog poop in the park, wearing a fluorescent orange jacket for more than a year. At least this gig was inside _and_ out of sight of the general public.” He put down the glass of water and playfully flipped the hammer in his hand, wheeling it around, catching it in mid air.

“I must say, I didn’t know it could be so much fun to take care of nutcases. If I knew, I would have signed up years ago. You know, they are actually very impressed with my contributions here. Father High Sparrow had such faith me in, he even put me in charge of the forget wing.” Ramsay paused to take in the horrified look on Petyr’s face. “Do you know why they call it that?” He asked, cheerfully. “Well, it’s basically the wing of the hospital where they dump all the people they want to forget about, because they are deemed too difficult or even impossible to treat. I am afraid that includes you now Petyr.” He suddenly clapped in his hands, making Petyr jump in fright. “So I guess I am in charge of you now! Sorry that I forgot to check on you yesterday…and the day before…but I have been very busy. Still, no real harm done, right? That little drink really helped, made your cheeks puff right back up.” He cheered, pinching Petyr in his cheek. “You’re like a bloody sponge, aren’t you?”

“Are y-you going to h-hurt me?” Petyr asked, glancing at the hammer in his hand.

“Now what kind of ridiculous question is that?” Ramsay told him, acting very disappointed. “ _Of course_ I am going to hurt you, or it wouldn’t be fair to me, would it? Remember, you hurt me first. You burnt me because you wanted to protect that red northern bitch. It’s just good old boring an eye for eye really.” Ramsay rummaged through his pockets and took out something to show Petyr.

“People in the other unit told me that you were constantly whining about getting back a bird pin. The one that was confiscated when you were processed? So, being the kind-hearted bastard that I am, I went through your stuff. Look what I found.”

Petyr’s eyes grew wide in horror. Right in the palm of Ramsay’s hand was the silver mocking bird pin. “Please don’t damage it.” He pleaded, immediately understanding what Ramsay was planning to do. “Sansa gave it to me. It’s…it’s the only thing that I still have left that reminds me of her. Please don’t, don’t damage it.”

Ramsay’s smile was a very nasty one. “Come on Petyr, you can do better than that.”

“Please! I will do anything! Anything you want. I will take all the pills you give me. You don’t even have to give me a glass of water, I will just swallow it all down. I will not be difficult, I swear. I will give you absolutely no troubles. Please, please don’t damage it. Give it back, please.”

“And if I want you to be very quiet?”

“I will.” Petyr nodded fervently, giving him his word. “I shall be very quiet. I won’t say a word if you don’t want me to.”

“Not even when I hurt you? You won’t tell the others? And you won’t cry out? Not even a tiny little scream?”

“I – I won’t.” Petyr swallowed, nervously licking his lips. “I won’t utter a single sound, I promise.”

“You’re very attached to your little pin, aren’t you?”

Petyr kept nodding, his eyes tearing up again. “I will do anything you say from now on. Please, I shall behave myself. I shall be good from now on. Please, please, I beg you, please give it back to me.”

Ramsay held the little silver pin up to the light and flipped the hammer in his hand, pretending to give it a serious thought.

“You know.” He finally said. “I actually do like you a lot Petyr. You were always such a great sport when I needed to run my dogs. And you never talked back or tried anything stupid before you started to conspire against me with that red whore from outside.”

“Sansa isn’t a who-“

“Eh, eh, eh!” Ramsay interrupted him, pressing his finger on Petyr’s lips. “You promised me to do whatever I say. Did I tell you to talk back to me?”

Petyr shook his head and consciously pressed his lips together into a thin white line.

“Right.” Ramsay gave him a long chastising look, one that he would normally use to discipline his dogs. “I think you better keep your word now. Considering the nasty circumstances you’re in. So.” He said, taking a deep breath. “To briefly summarize that incoherent lunatic wailing of yours, you want your pin back?”

Petyr eagerly nodded his head, biting in his lower lip to remind himself not to speak out. The smile that Ramsay returned to him gave his worried heart a smitten of hope.

“Okay, I give it back to you.” Ramsay agreed. He held the mockingbird pin in front of Petyr’s nose. “I am actually a big softy. I can’t stand to see a grown man beg like that.”

For a moment, Petyr felt so relieved and happy. He crawled closer and held out his hand to receive his pin.

“Give me your hand first.” Ramsay told him sternly.

Petyr froze.

“Come on. You want your pin back. Give me your hand.” He urged.

There was something in the way Ramsay said it that was very frightening to him. It was the same voice he used before he set his dogs on him, or when he forced him to lie to misses Tyrell or mr. Lannister. It never came before anything good.

Ramsay lost his patience. “God this is boring.” He muttered, rolling his eyes, he dropped the little mockingbird on the floor. Crouching down beside it, he raised his hammer high, and was about to slam it down on the silver pin.

No! No! No!” Petyr cried out. “Please no! Don’t do it. Don’t do it!”

“Were you not supposed to stay very quiet?” Ramsay told him, and held back his swing just in time, the hammer hovering right above Petyr’s precious silver pin.

“Why are you talking again?”

“I am sorry! I am sorry! I am –“ Petyr pressed his hands over his mouth to stop himself from rambling on and on, tears of fear and frustration were now running down his cheeks.

“Maybe you don’t deserve to get a break. Maybe it’s not such a good idea to give you your pin back.”

Petyr shook his head wildly, still covering his mouth with both his hands, too afraid to let go. He though he was going mad with worries.

“For the last time. You want the little trinket. Give me your hand.”

Petyr swallowed a few times, forcing down the mad screams that were now bubbling up in the back of his mind. He nodded and offered his right hand to Ramsay who took it firmly by the wrist. He placed it flat on the floor, right next to the mockingbird pin. 

“Now, spread out your fingers.”

Although he was trembling like a wounded little bird that was cast out of its nest, Petyr did what he was told.

“Hold it there. Exactly like that. Don’t move a finger. And Petyr.” Ramsay said, grinning playfully. “Remember, don’t make a single sound, or the bird gets it.”

Petyr continued to nod, and tremble, and cry, and bite the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from making a sound.

Ramsay’s grin widened into something predatory when he finally swung the hammer down on Petyr’s fingers, crushing 3 them. Petyr only produced a muffled cry. Whimpering of pain, his mouth quickly filled up with the taste of blood.

Still, this was not enough for Ramsay. “Shshshsh!” He petted his head like he was one of his dogs. “Remember, not a sound. I know.” He shushed. “It’s difficult right? It’s not easy to keep your lying mouth shut when someone is smashing your fingers. Maybe I can do something to help? How about I sing a little song for you? That will distract you from the pain.” Ramsay suggested most helpfully. “Let’s see, what would be fitting? How about;

 

_“This little finger left home.”_

The hammer came down, smashing his thumb.

 

_“This little finger stole a kiss from a fair maiden.”_

The hammer came down again and pulverized the largest joint of his index finger.

 

_“This little finger lost his heart to a girl who doesn’t love him back.”_

The hammer crushed the end bone of his middle finger, splitting his nail in two. The sharp ends, like razors, cut right into the flesh of his fingertip.

 

_“This little finger sold his conscience and told nothing but lies.”_

His ring finger was flattened in the middle, brittle bones splintering till they stuck out in odd angles through his flesh.

 

_“And this little finger, finally got what he deserved.”_

Ramsay brought the hammer down three times on his last finger, first breaking the bones, then splintering them, till they were so pulverized that they hardly seemed any different from the soft bleeding flesh.

Petyr was in such paralyzing, horrible agony. He was writhing, whimpering, and weeping, rolling over the floor like a mad injured animal, his lips still pressed tightly together to prevent himself from crying out, while what remained of his right hand throbbed and oozed. It felt like it had been shredded into ribbons, hot blood pulsing through its veins, screaming of the horrendous mutilation it had just endured.

“All right then.” Ramsay said, letting out a deeply satisfied sigh. He was rather enjoying himself. “Now, shall we move on to your other hand?”

When his tormentor finally left, Petyr could no longer use his fingers. They were like painfully stiff, bleeding sticks, red and swollen, pieces of broken glass stuck into his hands instead of fingers made of flesh and bone. He couldn’t even bend them at the ruined joints. But for once, Ramsay Bolton had kept his promise. He had tossed the silver mockingbird pin on the floor of his cell, right before he left him to his own misery. He had stepped on it only once. Only the needle was a little bend, but the bird was still intact.

Petyr tried to pick it up, but every time he tried, it was so horrifically painful that he had to chew on his bloodied cheeks again to stop himself from screaming out. So in the end, he used the palms of his ruined hands to sweep the pin away from the door to the furthest corner of his tiny little cell. His efforts left a smear behind on the grey floor, making it look like some grotesque finger painting attempt of a bloody rainbow.

Shivering of pain and shock, he huddled in the corner with his back against the wall, his knees tucked tight against his belly, and gazed down at the little mockingbird, feeling so very depressed, and scared, and confused.

He didn’t know what to do anymore. He missed misses Tyrell. He missed Cat, but most of all he missed Sansa.

He missed her so much.

Sansa always knew what to do. She always knew how to make things right again and say the right things to make him feel safe, and loved, and happy. Now she was gone forever. She had gone home with her father, back to Winterfell farm somewhere in the north where she belonged. She wasn’t homeless anymore. She didn’t need him anymore. She had her own family back to look after her now. And he…he had nothing. He was stuck here in this tiny cell that was to be his whole world from now on. A grey sterile place where there were no birds and no bird songs, no kind maidens who taught him not to be afraid of horses, who gave him a quick peck on the cheek before darting away playfully in the autumn sun. No kind-hearted girl who helped him to remember that a mock bird was actually called a mocking bird, and taught him how to speak to people in the right way, so they wouldn’t be angry with him all the time.

He was alone. He had no one.

Hot tears dripped from his chin and splashed down on the silver feathers of his little mocking bird.

_Sansa._

_She gave him this._

She gave him this to remind him what she had promised. She told him she loved him. She wouldn’t just leave him here. She wouldn’t abandon him. She promised when she gave him the mocking bird, that she was going to get him out of King’s Landing. She promised she would find him and take him with her.

And he believed her.

He still did.

He loved her.

He trusted her.

Sansa would never lie to him.

He wiped the snot and tears from his face, unknowingly smearing it all out and mingling it into the blood from his bleeding hands till his cheeks were all painted crimson. He wasn’t going to cry again. He was not going to despair. He will be brave now, and wait till she comes back for him. Wait till he sees her warm and beautiful smile again to bring this terrible nightmare to an end. Ramsay could do his worst, but this time, he will not be broken in the same way he once was by Brandon Stark when he fought him for Cat’s affection. When Sansa finally comes for him, he will still be Petyr.

 

He will be able to take care of her.

He will be able to go home with her.

 

He gazed down at the mocking bird pin. Gritting his teeth and taking in deep ragged breaths, he once again tried to pick it up with his hands.

On his fifth attempt, he could finally make his broken fingers wrap around it, and slowly but steadily, he lifted the little mocking bird up from the ground.

 

_The End_

 

This work has a sequel, please find the link below:

**[Fickle Games Mock(ing)bird part II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12852471/chapters/29350281) **

 

 **PLEASE READ NOTES:** Yeah…I know. What the heck just happened? I am horrible. Part 1 of this chapter was actually meant to be funny but it turned into such a kick in the guts… I really fucked Petyr over, didn’t I? I am sorry, I tried to write a happy ending, but it turned into a complete misery fest. _I blame G.R.R Martin for everything!_

But I am not leaving him here like this (Wouldn’t be fair, would it?) So **December the 1st I’ll post the first chapter of the sequel: Mock(ing)bird part II: Fickle games.** Did I need to introduce another GOT character into the last part of the story? Yes, Ellaria Sand is going to be incredibly useful to me (and Petyr). And yes, in the sequel, Petyr is going to wake up, try to get out and find Sansa, and generally fuck everyone over who has ever done him wrong, so there will be some sort of (twisted) revenge thing going on. Also, Ned Stark signing the document to send away Petyr to another level of deeper hell is going to come back to haunt poor Ned, but hey, that’s fucked up karma for you…

The next story will be mainly Petyr’s POV, so I invite you all to this crazy party and to step inside the head of our favourite little psychopath. I promise it will be less misery fest (well at least the somewhere in the middle part won’t be) and more **FUN!** – Ehm, if you think murdering people in a highly entertaining way to take sweet revenge can be fun (at least he thinks so)… Ahum. Anyway, enough with the crazies. See you next week! _Meanwhile, I am making a list of people who really are begging for it to get murdered…._

Just a small parting gift before I go: Petyr at this stage is very difficult to imagine if you have never seen Aidan Gillen’s work before when he was younger (say 25-30-ish), mainly because Littlefinger is such a composed figure, hardly showing any dramatic emotions at all. So for a bit of inspiration you might want to check out the following TV movie dating from 1993 (ugh, I was still in high school back then…getting freaking old).

**[Antonia Bird’s Safe](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rQfbB4GjX6c&t=3267s) **

It’s a horribly depressing – sometimes funny - story about a young homeless couple. Last scenes at the door of the youth shelter really did it for me + his character’s addiction to burning down things he doesn’t like. ;)

Let me know what you thought of the story, it keeps me motivated to write on. Have a nice weekend and see you December 1st. H

 

 


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